


Dad Duty

by glasssmoothie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Baby Jack Kline, Canon-Typical Violence, Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Dean Winchester Talks About Feelings, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Domestic Fluff, F/F, I guess Kaia also counts as MCD but she also comes back, M/M, Minor Character Death, Season 13 rewrite, Some hurt/comfort, Trauma From Lucifer's Cage (Supernatural), baby jack on hunts, he comes back it’s fine, major character death but we already knew about that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 18:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 59,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29530278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasssmoothie/pseuds/glasssmoothie
Summary: Rewrite of Season 13 (and possibly beyond, if I stick with it) where Jack does not age up upon birth, but instead lives with the Winchesters as a normal-aged child.Dean, Sam, and Cas have to learn how to parent a baby and save the world at the same time. Shenanigans ensue. Will add tags as the fic goes on.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Destiel content is subtextual/canon compliant for the most part, but we'll see where this fic takes me. No smut. 
> 
> I will likely go back and edit this later, so pardon any mistakes. Also, I decided not to go with the "Dean hates Jack" arc because A) I hated it, and B) how could Dean "I was big brother, father, and mother to Sammy" Winchester hate a baby.

Sam bounded up the stairs of the house, heart racing. The images of Cas’ eyes flashing out, of his mother being pulled through the portal, of Lucifer’s grotesque smile all flashed through his mind. He stopped when he saw Kelly lying on the bed, still as stone. Slowly, he walked over to the bedside, and gently closed her eyes. 

That’s when he heard the crying. It was coming from the next room over, the nursery. He crept warily into the dark room with the alphabet painted on the walls. In the cradle, wrapped in a white blanket, was a squalling newborn. 

Sam stared at the child in disbelief. It was so human, so helpless. This tiny little person could bring the universe to its knees? Could tear through the fabric of space and time? It seemed impossible. 

Behind him, he heard Dean call his name, then heard his heavy footsteps running up the stairs. He turned to see his brother run into the room, wielding a gun, with a look of anguish on his face. He lowered the gun when he heard the baby’s cries. Sam watched as Dean tucked it into his waistband and stepped slowly toward the crib. Dean froze, staring at the kid. It coughed, and Dean reached into the crib, moving as though he weren’t entirely in control, and picked up the child. He bounced it gently in his arms, and the baby stopped crying. Sam stepped closer to Dean, looking down into the bundle. 

The baby’s eyes were a soft brown and full of tears. It was looking right at Dean. 

“Jack, huh?” he breathed, still gently rocking the baby. 

“Y-yeah,” Sam replied, shocked at how soft Dean’s voice had gone. 

Dean nodded, then gently transferred the baby to Sam’s arms. The baby made a noise, as if it were about to start crying again, but Sam bounced it gently, copying what Dean had been doing, and it calmed down, eyes sliding closed. 

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, nervous to be left alone with the kid. 

Dean looked at Sam, pain in his eyes. Cas. 

***

Dean made his way to where Cas lay in the mud, wings burned into the ground. He felt as though every organ in his body was constricting, but he continued taking steps toward the angel. He couldn’t leave him out here, like this. He couldn’t. 

His knees gave out when he reached Cas’ corpse. He was gone. He was dead. And for what? For a child he never got to meet. 

The child… it seemed human. It was an infant. Dean tried to think rationally– this was a monster, the child of Lucifer, an abomination– but he just couldn’t. 

Cas loved this kid. Cas died to protect this kid. Cas had faith in this kid. 

And that faith had gotten him killed. 

But still… it was an infant. An infant that could be raised in love. An infant that could be raised to be good. 

Dean sighed, and looked down at the trench coat. He could not bring himself to look at Cas’ face. “I don’t have faith in this kid,” he whispered. Prayed. “But I have… I had faith in you. So I… I’ll try.” 

His hands trembled as he wrapped one arm under Cas’ shoulders and the other under his legs. With great effort, he lifted the lifeless angel from the ground, and carried him into the dining room, laying him gently on the table. He looked around, not daring to let his eyes rest on his friend’s corpse for any length of time. Hanging over the back of a chair was a large white sheet. He took the sheet and draped it over Cas’ body, like a curtain closing at the end of a play, like finality, like permanence. 

He couldn’t be dead. He shouldn’t be. He deserved better. He deserved to meet this kid that he fought for, he deserved to come back to the bunker with him and Sam, so that they could be a family again. Dean didn’t care that Cas had left them, betrayed them, run away from them, he just wanted him back. 

Before he even realized what he was doing, he flipped back the sheet from Cas’ head. His eyes were closed. He could have been sleeping. But he wasn’t sleeping. Angels didn’t sleep. Dean swallowed thickly, trying to keep himself from crying, breaking down, sobbing, screaming at God and the universe and everything that had led to this, and threw the sheet back over the angel’s face. He turned away, and his gaze landed on the yellow curtains in the window. As if on autopilot, Dean reached up and pulled the curtains from the window frame, ripped them into strips, and began tying the sheet around Cas’ feet. He faltered as he pulled the knot tight, and for a moment he just leaned against the table, clenching his eyes shut, trying not to break. 

It wasn’t fair. Chuck had promised them that everything would be fine. He had promised. And now Cas was lying dead on the dining room table of the house he and Kelly had put together for a child who could make or break everything, wrapped in yellow curtains that Dean was almost certain he had picked out with such care. He looked up at where the sheet was draped over the angel’s face, and clenched his jaw. Just finish the job. Just finish wrapping his body, just finish building the pyre, just finish giving him a proper send off. Then Dean could break out a bottle of whiskey and drown out his sorrow. Or drown in it. Either way. 

Upstairs, he heard the kid crying again. He sighed. No drowning in whiskey tonight. Sam had no clue how to take care of kids, but Dean had practically raised Sam himself. Though it pained him, he figured it would be best if Sam took care of the pyre while Dean took care of the kid. He wrapped yellow curtains around Cas’ waist and neck, securing the sheet around him, and made to walk toward the stairs, but something stopped him. He stared at the body on the table, as if he were waiting for Cas to move, to groan and call out for Dean and ask why he was all wrapped up in a sheet, ask where was Jack? 

Jack. Cas’ kid. Because really, who was Dean kidding. Lucifer may have sired the kid, but Cas was the one who had stayed by Kelly’s side, built a home, painted walls and hung curtains and built a crib and bought diapers. 

Dean nodded, although whether it was to himself or to his fallen friend he could not be sure, and went upstairs to Jack. 

***

Sam bounced the baby faster as he began to cry again. He knew nothing about kids, he’d never been great at talking to kids on cases, and this one couldn’t even talk. He had no idea what was going on in that tiny little head, no idea what it wanted. 

“Hey, buddy,” he cooed, trying not to sound nervous and failing. “Hey, you’re okay, I’ve got you.” It was no use. Jack wailed, showing off his tiny pink tongue and gums. Sam was just about to call out for Dean when he heard his heavy footfalls on the stairs again. 

“Christ, Sammy, have you never held a baby before?” Dean berated, scooping the infant from his arms. Sam quickly backed away so that Dean could not change his mind and dump Jack back on him. “He’s probably hungry. God, I hope Cas thought to buy formula.” Sam saw his brother wince as he realized what he’d said, and felt a stone drop into his own stomach. Cas, Kelly… they were both gone, leaving this kid to Sam and Dean, probably the worst choice of parents in the universe. Or at least, the worst parents in this universe. He thought of his mom, trapped in that Apocalypse world with Lucifer. 

Sam cleared his throat. “Do you want me to–?” 

“I’ll feed the kid,” Dean interrupted, “You… you’re on wood duty.” Sam saw the tears welling in Dean’s eyes. 

“Okay,” Sam replied softly, “I’ll take care of it.” He led the way down the stairs, his eyes landing momentarily on Cas’ body, wrapped in a white sheet and sheer yellow curtains, and made his way outside. There was a wood shed behind the house, but he needed large logs as well, so he grabbed an axe that was leaned against the shed, and stalked off toward the treeline. He wondered if Cas had chopped all of that wood. 

Sam found a properly sized sapling and swung at the trunk. The heavy blade buried itself in the soft wood. He swung again, and again, and again, not thinking, letting the whole world blur away. 

Lucifer was gone, but so was Mom. Trapped in that other world. 

But she wasn’t dead. Had Lucifer killed her when they made it to the other side? It was likely, but not certain. She could still be alive. When the kid was old enough, when he had control of his powers, he could open up another portal, and they could get her back. But would she last that long? 

Sam shook his head. She had to be alive. She would survive until he and Dean got to her. He let his mind come back to the world in front of him, and he realized that he had enough wood. Slowly, one by one, he dragged the logs to a spot overlooking the lake, and began to build a pyre. 

He stopped. Was that… singing? 

It was. Dean was singing softly– was that Stairway to Heaven?– to Jack, his voice wafting out of the kitchen window. Jack had stopped crying. Sam turned, and looked through the window. Dean had a bottle, and was gently swaying as he fed the baby Jack. The look on his face was… tender. Loving. It shocked Sam, especially considering how Dean had initially walked into that nursery with guns blazing. 

But Dean killed monsters. Jack was no monster. Sure, he was half-archangel, but he was just a child. Just a child nestled in his big brother’s arms. Sam wondered if Dean had ever held him like that, after Mom had died and their dad had dragged them along the road. Dean had been his big brother, his father, and his mother. And now he was doing the same for this kid. 

Kelly’s kid. Sam thought of her, lying on her birthing bed, looking to all the world like she was asleep. He would have to wrap her body like Dean had wrapped Cas’. 

He placed the last of the logs and made his way into the house and upstairs, careful not to disturb Dean as he rocked Jack in his arms. 

***

Dean stared at the two bodies laying side by side on the pyre as he shook gasoline onto the logs below them. They almost looked fake. He wished they were. Sam stood a few feet away, rocking a sleeping Jack in his arms. The kid looked so tiny in the arms of his towering brother. When the canister was empty, he walked over to Sam and took out his lighter. 

“Well, goodbye Cas,” he rasped, refusing to let his voice break. “Goodbye Kelly. Goodbye Crowley.” He paused. “Goodbye Mom.” 

“Dean, we don’t know if Mom–” 

“Yeah, we do.” There was no possible way that Lucifer hadn’t killed her the instant they landed in that other world. No possible way. He wanted to have faith in her, but he had none left. The only being he’d ever prayed to with any sort of hope was lying dead on the pyre in front of him. “We do, Sam. Lucifer killed her the moment he realized we trapped his ass.” Saying it was agony. But he knew it was the truth. “He killed her, you know he did.” He bowed his head, trying to will away the tears that were starting to clog his throat. “She’s gone. They’re all gone.” 

Slowly, although he couldn’t explain to himself why he hesitated, he clicked on his lighter, watching the flame for a moment. He threw the lighter onto the gasoline-soaked wood. The flames whooshed as they quickly spread over the logs, enveloping Cas and Kelly. Thick black smoke curled into the sky as the sun rose over the lake. He wondered how the sun could possibly rise on a day like this. 

Jack whimpered in Sam’s arms, likely overheating in his multitude of blankets next to the fire. Dean turned and wordlessly took the baby from Sam. 

“We’ll take him back to the bunker,” Dean said, wincing at the crack in his voice. “He’ll be safest there.” 

Sam nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed, “but we need to take his things from the house.” 

Dean swallowed thickly, thinking about the home that Cas and Kelly had so painstakingly built for Jack. Just for it, and them, to be taken away. “Yeah. We’ll, uh. I’ll grab the basics, take apart the, uh. The crib. Grab some formula. Yeah.” 

“Okay.” Sam stayed by the fire while Dean carried Jack back into the house. He took the child upstairs and laid him gently in the crib. He wondered if Cas or Kelly had put it together. Looking at Jack, sleeping with his tiny mouth slightly open, he tried to imagine what he’d be like when he was older. Somehow, he couldn’t imagine him being anything like Lucifer. He imagined him as sort of dorky, helping people, not quite understanding mere mortal humans… like Cas. 

He sighed. “Cas,” he prayed, “Cas, I’m so sorry. I….” It was useless. Cas was gone. Still, how could he not apologize? This had been his fault. If Dean had just trusted Cas, helped him help Kelly, they could have avoided all of this, they could have kept Kelly safe together, and they wouldn’t have had to fight Lucifer or lose Crowley or Mom or– 

Dean realized that he was crying. He straightened up and wiped the tears from his face, then turned and left the room. He had to take care of Jack now. He could think about this later. But the guilt inside him spread like poison, filling his veins and boiling his blood. Cas was dead because he didn’t have faith in him. Cas was dead because of him. 

***

They were in the Impala, speeding toward Lebanon, Kansas, with Jack’s car seat strapped haphazardly in the back seat. Sam knew this was absolutely unsafe and illegal, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything to Dean. Besides, Dean would never ditch the Impala, and Sam did not want to leave Dean alone while he drove his dead friend’s truck. 

Thankfully, the purr of the engine and the movement of the car put Jack into a deep sleep; he hadn’t moved since they left the house in Washington. Dean had left the radio off, likely to maintain Jack’s sleeping state. They were crossing into Wyoming when Sam finally broke the silence. 

“Hey,” he said softly, “We still got probably twelve hours until we’re home. You want me to drive?” 

“Do I ever want you to drive?” Dean replied gruffly. 

Sam sighed. “Look….” He paused. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to dive into this, but it needed to be addressed. “Losing Mom and Cas, that’s a lot to process, Dean. Especially on no sleep.” 

“Okay,” Dean shot back, “So I’ll process it later.” 

Sam scoffed lightly. “Come on man.” 

“What do you want me to say, Sam?” 

“I don’t know. That you’re making a plan to get Mom back, or something.” 

Dean looked at him, a hint of anger in his eyes. “Mom’s gone. There’s no fixing that.” 

Sam looked away, deciding not to answer Dean. Mom couldn’t be dead. Not yet. Not when they’d just gotten her back. Not when he finally had a chance to get to know her, to get to love her. No, she was too tough to be dead. If Dean wouldn’t help him, he’d get her back himself. 

Besides, Lucifer probably thought he needed her. For a spell, for leverage, something. He knew the devil; he’d spent long enough in the cage with him. He wouldn’t kill Mom until he was certain she was useless to get him back to this Earth. 

All of a sudden, the car swerved. Sam grabbed onto the dashboard to steady himself. Jack began to scream in the backseat. 

“Dean, what the hell!” he yelled. 

“There was a damn flock of sheep on the road!” Dean yelled back, steadying the car. 

“The hell there were!” As if sent from Chuck himself, a motel sign flashed from the next exit. “Take the damn exit or so help me I will take the wheel!” Dean scoffed, but followed Sam’s directions. Jack continued to wail from the back seat. 

“Come on, Sammy, I’m fine, we just need–” 

“Sleep is what you need. I’m checking in, you deal with Jack.” Sam opened the door before the Impala had even come to a full stop, and marched inside. When he had a key, Dean walked in with a still-crying Jack in his car seat carrier. 

“This is a bad idea,” Dean growled, “We should’ve just kept driving.” 

“Dude,” Sam scolded, well aware of how much of a mother hen Dean must think him to be right now, “you were hallucinating sheep on the road. We need a few hours.” Jack hiccuped and coughed as they entered the room, and Dean set his carrier down on the couch while he examined the cleanliness of the room. “Let’s ward the room, get a bite, get a few hours of sleep, hit the road first thing.” 

Dean sighed. “Fine. We’re out of here in a few hours.” Sam watched as he leaned over the carrier, picked up Jack, and began to hum as he rocked him back to sleep. Within minutes, the kid was out cold. Dean set him on one of the double beds, then climbed under the covers next to the baby. 

“Dude, do you want me to take him?” Sam whispered. 

“Nah, you kick in your sleep,” Dean replied, his eyes closed, “can’t have you accidentally punting the little guy.” 

Sam scoffed, but shed his coat and climbed into the other bed. As he drifted off to sleep, he heard Dean humming Stairway to Heaven again. 

***

Dean was surprised to wake up to sunlight instead of Jack crying. He remembered how many times Sam had woken them up with screaming when he was little. He reached to where he had laid Jack down, but there was nothing but sheets. No baby. 

In an instant he was awake and standing next to the bed. Before he could call out to Sam, though, he saw his brother holding the kid, feeding him from a bottle. Every muscle in his body relaxed, but his heart rate would not slow down. 

“You good?” Sam asked, as if he had not nearly given Dean a heart attack. 

“Thought the kid was gone,” Dean grumbled, rubbing his face with his hands, “Guess a near heart attack is one way to wake up in the morning.” As sleep and panic drained from his mind, grief returned. Cas, Mom, Kelly, Crowley. All gone. He sighed. 

“We should get some coffee and then hit the road,” Sam said. 

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but the sound of loud footsteps reached his ears. They were headed towards their room. Dean grabbed his gun off of the table while Sam set Jack down on the bed. He made his way to the door and nodded at Sam. Sam picked up his gun and nodded back. In just a few swift movements, Dean opened the door, grabbed whoever was outside, and flung them onto the couch. 

It was then that Dean realized who it was. 

“Donatello?” Sam breathed in confusion. 

“Sam? Dean?” Donatello replied, all but winded. “Is God with you?” 

***

“You okay?” Sam asked as Donatello flopped onto the couch, fanning himself with him brimmed hat. 

“Ah, pretty much,” Donatello panted, “No soul of course, thanks to Amara. It’s kind of like losing your appendix. You never really noticed it when you had it.” He groaned. “But now, when I come to a moral crossroad, I ask myself, ‘what would Mr. Rogers do?’ And as soon as I nail that, I’m usually good.” Sam blinked, partially in confusion and partially in amusement. 

“Why are you here?” Dean asked bluntly. 

Donatello inhaled deeply. “Yes,” he said, a philosophic tone in his voice, “that is the question we all must ask.” 

Sam could feel the irritation emanating off of Dean. “Why are you in Wyoming?” he asked, more pointedly. 

“Oh, uh, well–” Donatello cleared his throat. “After God left, I said to myself, ‘Donatello, you are so retired.’” He chuckled. “I mean, who needs a prophet of God when there is no God? So,” he sighed, “a few days ago, I’m online, checking out condos in Boca, and I am knocked off my feet by this weird wave of power.” He screwed up his face in concentration. “Not exactly like God’s, more like… something new, something fresh.” Sam looked over at Dean, who had on a bitchface that could probably rival his own. “I was drawn to it.” Donatello paused, tilting his head. “It’s here.” Jack whimpered from the bed, which caught Donatello’s attention. “Who is that?” 

“This is Jack,” Sam replied, scooping up the baby, who maybe was not as helpless and human as he had originally thought. “Jack is a nephilim.” 

Donatello gasped softly. “A child of a human and an angel.” 

“Archangel, actually,” Sam replied, bouncing the child gently in his arms. Jack was waking up more fully now, making cute little cooing noises. “Um… Lucifer.” 

“Lucifer?” Donatello echoed. “My God, look at the little guy. The waves of power… so intense.” 

Sam did not like the sound of that. 

“Maybe less human than we thought,” Dean said aloud, echoing Sam’s thoughts. 

“Fascinating,” Donatello mused, leaning over the infant. “You know,” he cooed softly to the child, “I’ve met your father. Your power’s nothing like his, no no no. Not dark, not toxic.” 

“That so?” Sam mused, looking at Dean, who had a look of determination on his face. 

“Not yet,” Dean grumbled. Sam hoped that he heard a note of kindness in his voice. After hearing Dean sing to the kid, he couldn’t imagine that he would turn around and suddenly decide to loathe him. But Dean was stubborn; even if he had changed his mind yesterday, when his grief for Cas was fresh, he could change his mind back today, decide that this child was, in fact, a monster that the world needed gone. 

Sam decided to focus on the more pressing issue at hand. “If Jack is sending out a signal strong enough to get Donatello all the way out here… I mean, the angels are still out there, who knows what else might be listening? He needs protection.” 

Dean’s eyes widened in shock. “We are not tattooing a baby.” 

Sam glared at him. “I meant one of the charms we have in the trunk.” 

Dean grimaced. “Right. Right. You, uh, pack up, I’ll go get some coffee. Meet me down there in twenty.” Before he could protest, Dean was out the door. 

“I’m going to go out too,” Donatello muttered, following suit. 

“Right, okay,” Sam muttered, setting Jack down on the bed. He began to whimper, but Sam blocked him out, instead focusing on packing up the bottles of formula and diapers and spitrags. It suddenly occurred to Sam that Jack had been wrapped in the same blanket since he’d been born. He grabbed a tiny yellow onesie and diaper from Jack’s bag. 

Sam unwrapped Jack’s tiny body from the blankets, grimacing at his nakedness. The room was not exactly warm. “Hey, buddy,” he cooed, “let’s get you into some clothes, yeah?” He put on the diaper, then slid the baby’s wriggling legs into the onesie, and cupped his head as he lifted him to put on the sleeves. He frowned. Were newborns supposed to be able to move this much? He wasn’t sure. He and Dean weren’t prepared to be taking care of a baby. 

Jack wailed in displeasure as Sam zipped up the front. All of a sudden, the light bulbs in the room exploded, showering the three inhabitants with glass and sparks. Sam instinctively threw himself over the baby, shielding him from the shrapnel. When the dust settled, he lifted himself enough to look Jack in the face. He looked back at Sam with a blank expression that could only possibly belong to babies. 

“Oh, buddy, we’re gonna have to learn to control that,” Sam muttered, checking Jack’s carrier to make sure there was no glass in it before setting him down. 

“Whoa, what happened here?” 

Sam whirled around, but it was just Donatello. “Geez, man, didn’t hear you come in. He didn’t like it when I changed him into clothes.” 

Donatello chuckled. “Poor little tyke. Probably sick of being stuck in here. Should I take him for a walk?” 

Sam sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t had a headache like this since he’d been dealing with psychic powers. “That might be a good idea. Hang on, let me set you up with some protection charms.” He pulled a few charms from one of the duffel bags and tied them around Jack’s tiny wrists, then handed a charm and Jack to Donatello. “Be back in fifteen?” 

“No problem.” 

***

Dean was in the bar and restaurant downstairs, waiting on takeout with a whiskey on the bar beside him. 

“Getcha another?” the blonde waitress asked brightly. 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean replied, not really paying attention as he stared at his phone. He could have Sam drive if he needed him to. 

“What the hell, you’re not driving, right?” the waitress responded in a friendly voice. Dean looked up at her sharply. “I’ve just– I’ve seen you around the hotel,” she said, backtracking slightly. “Passing through with, what, your…?” 

“Uh, that’s my brother, and, uh… a friend’s kid.” 

“A friend’s kid?” 

“Yeah, his uh… his mom is dead, and his dad… well, he’s not around.” 

“That’s unfortunate,” she replied sympathetically. 

“Yeah, it is,” Dean replied, trying to figure out if it was Cas or Lucifer that he considered more to be Jack’s dad. 

“Why don’t I grab you that drink?” the waitress offered. 

“Actually, you know what, I’m good,” Dean said, grabbing his jacket, “I’m gonna take a walk.” He slapped a few bills onto the counter. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

He made his way back up to the room, still wondering about Cas versus Lucifer’s influence. When he opened the door, he immediately noticed the glass on the floor and how dark it was. And the empty carrier beside Sam. 

“What the hell happened?” he demanded, glaring at Sam, who was sitting on the couch, head in his hands. “Where’s Jack?” 

“Donatello came back, offered to take him out on a walk, get him some fresh air. Don’t worry, I gave them protection charms. I, uh…” Sam cleared his throat. “I was changing him, and he must have been cold, or hungry, or something, because he wouldn’t stop crying, and… and the lights exploded.” 

Dean stared at him. “Seriously?” 

“Well– I– he– he didn’t mean to!” Sam sputtered. 

“He’s a baby, Sam, of course he didn’t mean to!” Dean sighed. “I guess we have an idea of how powerful he is, though. And he’s only going to get more powerful.” 

Sam clenched his jaw. “You think he’s going to go dark side.” 

“I hope not. But I’m prepared for that possibility.” Dean hoped to everything that Jack would turn out good, but this… this was not a good sign. If he could blow out light bulbs as a newborn, what could he do during a temper tantrum as a toddler? What would happen when he was fully grown? 

“Dean,” Sam said sternly, “if you and I are gonna do this, keep Jack on the right side of things, then we have to be on the same page.” 

“Okay, well that’s the problem, I guess. ‘Cause we’re not on the same page. Like, at all.” 

“He’s a baby.” 

“Yeah, a baby that very well may grow into the devil.” 

Sam sighed. “All right. You know what? I know what’s going on here.” 

Irritation flashed through Dean’s head. He folded his arms. “Oh, okay, well, please, tell me, what’s going on here?” 

“You thinking Mom is gone and Cas is gone, and that Jack can’t grow up good.” He sighed again. “Dean, after everything we’ve gone through… we just lost people we love,” Dean thought of Cas, lying in the mud between two scorched wing prints, “people who have been in our lives for a long time.” Dean thought of his mother, disappearing in a flash as the rift closed around her. “Everything’s upside-down. I get it.” Dean looked away, uncomfortable with the whole heart-to-heart thing, but not confident enough that his voice wouldn’t break if he tried to shut it down. “But we’ve been down before. I mean, rock bottom. And we find a way. We fix it because that’s what we do.” Dean stared at a spot just above Sam’s shoulder, pushing down the grief that Sam was trying so hard to drag to the surface. He couldn’t think about that stuff. Not right now. Not until they were back at the bunker, where they were safe from demons and angels and whatever the hell else wanted to get their hands on Jack. 

A knock at the door interrupted Dean’s thoughts. 

“Come in!” Sam called. Donatello stepped inside, arms laden with grocery bags. 

“Where’s Jack?” Sam and Dean demanded in unison. 

“Wh-what?” Donatello sputtered. 

“Jack, where’s Jack?” Dean yelled. Panic rose in his throat like bile. 

“I left him with Sam? I left same time as you, Dean, you saw me,” Donatello replied with confusion. “I went out to get breakfast burritos. Extra spicy.” 

Sam and Dean leapt from the table, grabbing guns and angel blades from the duffels piled by the door. 

“Okay, okay,” Sam sputtered as they tucked their guns into their waistbands, “So– so who’s got Jack? And who– or what– did I give him to? A shifter?” 

“What would a shifter want with Jack?” Dean yelled back. 

All of a sudden, Donatello went stiff, and began walking robotically out of the room. 

“Whoa, where you going, cowboy?” Dean demanded. 

“He, uh, he went this way,” Donatello replied. 

“You sure?” Sam asked, panic leaking into his voice. 

“I can feel it,” Donatello whispered. 

“I’ve got the gear,” Dean said, as Sam and Donatello made their way down to the car. 

He was shoving the last few things into a bag when he heard a floorboard creak behind him. He ducked to the side as an arm brought a knife down swiftly, embedding it in the table, then grabbed the arm and spun his attacker around, slamming him onto the table. It was a bald man in a suit, probably possessed by a demon. Definitely a demon, because he lifted himself against Dean’s armbar with superhuman strength, and drove his fist into Dean’s side, knocking him away. Dean stumbled, trying to regain his senses, and the demon punched him in the face, once, twice, then slammed him into the dresser. Dean quickly took stock of his situation as the demon swung him onto the table, adrenaline finally kicking in, and swung his legs up to block the demon’s arm as it swung downward in an attempt to stab Dean. To his surprise, the demon lifted him off the table, and Dean managed to slam his elbow into the thing’s skull before it flung him onto the bed (at least it wasn’t the floor). Dean rolled away, prepared to continue fighting the demon, but the demons eyes suddenly sparked and flamed orange. It dropped to the ground, revealing Sam with an angel blade. 

“First angels,” Dean panted, “now demons. Terrific.” 

“I guess the word’s out,” Sam replied. 

Panic struck Dean again. “Donatello.” Dean grabbed an angel blade as the two brothers rushed out of the room to find Donatello being pinned to the wall by another suited demon. Without a second thought, Dean flung the angel blade with adrenaline-induced force and precision. The blade sank into the demon’s neck, the wound sparking as it dropped to the floor. 

Donatello’s eyes were wide with shock. “Uh, housekeeping is not gonna like this.” 

***

Sam gripped the door of the Impala in one hand and his dad’s hunting journal in the other as Dean sped down the two lane road. He didn’t even want to know how many miles per hour above the speed limit he was driving. He was scanning the pages, looking for anything that could fit the MO for what had taken Jack. 

“Turn!” Donatello yelled, pointing to the right. The tires screeched as Dean made the turn. “This is worrisome. I’m sensing a power emanation alongside Jack’s. It gets stronger the closer we get to it.” They passed a sign reading ‘Jasper, Wyoming.’ 

“Maybe it’s an angel,” Dean offered, his face stone hard and determined. 

“No,” Donatello countered, “something dark.” 

Dean shook his head angrily. “Do you ever have any good news?” he quipped. “Well, see if there’s anything in Jasper that’s demon-y.” 

An entry in the journal caught Sam’s eye. “Yeah, there is. According to Dad’s journal, Jasper is home to its very own Gate to Hell.” Dean looked at him with an expression that read ‘are you fucking kidding me?’ “It gets better.” 

“Fantastic.” 

“According to legend,” he read, “this particular gate leads to ‘a place where unimaginable evil emanates from creatures too wicked for the Pit to hold.’” 

“What the hell does that mean?” Dean asked. 

Sam shook his head, not sure what the legend referred to either, but Donatello spoke up. 

“They’re really bad,” he groaned. Sam looked back at him, but he did not elaborate before yelling to Dean to turn again. 

They came to a field where Donatello (but not Donatello, the real Donatello was in the back seat) was holding an infant Jack high in the air, Lion King style. The fake Donatello was chanting as Jack cried, his eyes glowing yellow. Sam was shocked to see waves of power, like the heat waves above asphalt in the summertime, emanating from the infant in the bumble bee onesie. 

Sam was out of the car before Dean had even put it in park. He ignored the twisted hands pushing out of the Earth, his only goal to take Jack away from whatever villain it was that they were facing. As he reached the fake Donatello and Jack, he heard Dean’s gun go off, and watched as two bullets hit the man. The world seemed to go into slow motion as the thing dropped Jack. Sam leapt toward the falling infant, catching him in midair, and turned to see the creature’s disguise fall away like mist. In the fake Donatello’s place was a man in a white suit who looked not unlike many of the villains in Dean’s favorite westerns. His face had two long scratches down the side, and when he turned to Sam, his eyes flashed the same yellow as Azazel. Sam felt his blood run cold. 

“Howdy, boys,” the demon drawled, waving a hand. It took everything Sam had not to drop Jack as he felt his breath snatched from his throat. Jack screamed louder, tears streaming down his face, as Sam dropped to his knees, trying to lay the baby down before he passed out and dropped him. He could vaguely hear the demon talking softly to Jack, but his pulse was pounding in his ears, so loud he couldn’t hear anything. All of a sudden, his throat was released; he gasped air into his lungs, and looked around. The demon was gone, and so was the portal to Hell. Jack was still crying, but not nearly so hard as he had been a moment ago. Sam scooped him up and cradled him to his chest. 

“Is he okay?” Dean demanded, running to Sam’s side. 

“I– I think so,” Sam stuttered, allowing Dean to take the child into his arms. He watched as Dean sighed in relief and began rocking the child. 

“Hey, Jack, it’s okay, we’ve got you,” Dean said softly, “I’m so sorry, buddy, that was scary. Yeah, that was scary.” Sam stood and followed Dean back to the Impala. Jack gradually stopped crying as Dean rocked him and hummed some classic rock tune– was that Metallica?– and fell asleep when they strapped him into his car seat and drove away, Donatello in the empty seat beside him. 

They drove in silence all the way back to Lebanon, stopping in the next town over to let Donatello out to catch a taxi home. When they arrived at the bunker, they brought Jack to the kitchen in his carrier, both silently agreeing to unpack the car later. 

Dean passed a beer to Sam, and then turned to watch Jack sleep. There was something incredibly mournful in his eyes. Sam didn’t want to think about what they’d lost, though, not right now. 

“These yellow-eyed things just keep on comin’, huh?” 

“Mhmm,” Dean mumbled, “And hopefully this fourth Prince of Hell is the last Kardashian in the family.” 

Sam exhaled softly with laughter, but decided not to make fun of the fact that Dean just referenced the Kardashians. He turned back to the lore book in his hands. “According to this, if that was Asmodeus, it’s the end of the line.” 

Dean nodded, cleared his throat, and got up to leave. 

“Dean, wait a second,” Sam interrupted. Dean turned to him. “Jack saved us. He’s barely a few days old, and he saved us.” 

“I don’t know,” Dean replied, grimacing, “I don’t think the kid really knew what was happening or what he was doing. He’s a newborn, Sam.” He sighed. “I’m going to go get the crib from the car, I’ll set it up in the guest room. And I’ll get the baby monitor, I’ll take dad duty tonight.” 

Sam smiled softly as Dean left the kitchen, and turned back to the sleeping baby. Maybe Dean didn’t trust the kid yet, but ‘dad duty’ sounded pretty promising to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rewrite of episode 3, Patience.

Sam sat on his bed, rocking Jack in one arm and fiddling with a computer with the other. Dean had woken him up at five in the morning to hand off the baby, declaring it was his turn for dad duty. Sam ignored the six pack that he grabbed as he stalked off to his room. 

With one final click, he opened the file. He knew that the infant in his arms would not understand anything in the video, but he figured it would be nice if the kid could hear his mom’s voice, even if it was only a recording. The screen filled up with Kelly’s smiling face, and Sam felt a pang of guilt over her death. 

“Hi, Jack,” she said sweetly, “It’s, uh… I’m your mom. Uh, I guess I should tell you, I always wanted to be a mom. I played with dolls– I was that kind of girl– and daydream about my baby.” She rambled on for a while longer, telling Jack about herself and how she imagined he would be. “Jack,” she continued, her voice more urgent and sincere, “don’t let anyone tell you who you’re supposed to be, because who you’re supposed to be isn’t fate.” She sniffed. “It isn’t me, it isn’t your father.” She sighed. “You are who you choose to be. And I know you’re gonna be okay.” She was crying now, and Sam could feel tears pricking the backs of his eyes. “You are gonna be amazing.” Jack cooed softly, and Sam wondered if maybe he could understand, just a little bit, if the archangel grace lent him some maturity beyond his infant body. 

She sniffled again, then laughed. “You have an angel watching over you.” Sam felt a tear drip down his face as he thought of Cas in the mud. He looked down at Jack, wondering if he remembered Cas from in the womb. If he would miss the angel who no longer watched over him. The video ended soon after that, with Kelly declaring how much she loved Jack. 

Sam stared at the frozen screen, just feeling sorry for Kelly. She had deserved so much better. She deserved the chance to be a mom for Jack. 

His phone vibrated, cutting off his thoughts. He picked it up, wondering who the number could be. 

“Hello?” 

“Sam Winchester?” Wait. Was that…? “It’s good to hear your voice.” 

“Missouri,” Sam said, the recognition flooding him with joy. He hadn’t realized that he’d missed her. “Wow, I mean, it’s been…” 

“I know,” Missouri replied, “A long time. Sorry to be a stranger.” 

“That’s all right. How are you?” 

“Honestly?” She paused. “I could use some help.” Sam could have sworn he heard sirens in the distance over the phone. 

“We’ll be on our way soon,” Sam replied, then hung up. Then he froze. What the hell were they going to do with Jack? 

***

Dean made his way into the library, feeling heavy but refreshed. Who knew that sobbing your eyes out to sad music could leave a person feeling so purged clean? 

He approached Sam, who was just hanging up the phone as he clutched a sleeping Jack to his chest. 

“What’s up?” he greeted, hoping his face wouldn’t reveal that he’d been crying. He was supposed to be too tough for that. 

Sam scoffed lightly, barely looking up at Dean. “You’ll never believe this. I got a call from Missouri Moseley.” 

Dean’s eyes widened in shock. “Wow. What’s it been, like, a decade?” 

“More,” Sam agreed. 

“How is she?” 

“Not great,” Sam sighed, “she said she got out of the life for a while, but something happened, and she needed help with a case, so I put Jody on it.” 

Dean frowned. The question “Why would you do that?” left his mouth before his brain could catch up with the fact that Sam was holding an infant in a bumble bee onesie. 

Sam gave him his best bitchface. “Because we need to stay here. With Jack. Jody can handle this.” 

But Dean was itching to get out of the bunker. He couldn’t mope around here all day, thinking about Cas and Mom. Besides, Jody wasn’t nearly as seasoned as the two of them. “Yeah, maybe she can. Or, maybe she ends up dead because we were here, babysitting the antichrist.” He knew it was a low blow, but he needed out. 

“Fine.” Sam sighed. “You go help Jody, and I’ll babysit the kid.” 

Dean resisted the urge to smile as he replied. “Alright, you’re on dad duty, I’m gonna go hunt.” 

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, okay.” 

Dean packed quickly and drove off before Sam could change his mind. Yes, he trusted Sam to keep Jack alive, but when all was said and done Sam suffered from younger brother syndrome; the man was not as good with kids as Dean, it was simply a fact. 

The drive to Lawrence was a quick one. Jody was already at the crime scene, talking to Missouri, when he arrived. 

“Dean Winchester!” Missouri greeted as he exited the Impala. 

“Missouri, Jody,” he nodded back. Despite everything, he found himself smiling. “Not sure which one to hug first.” He decided on Missouri, since he hadn’t seen her in longer. 

“Oh, honey,” Missouri said as he broke away, voice oozing sympathy, “I’m sorry for your losses.” 

Dean froze a moment. He really didn’t want to talk about it, so he played it off with humour, as always. “Well, leave it to a psychic to cut through the small talk, huh?” He turned to Jody. 

“Come here,” she said, bringing him in for a quick hug. “How ya doin’?” 

“Dandy.” Christ, Dean did not want to talk about his feelings right now. The whole point of this hunt was to escape them. “Shall we take a look at the scene?” 

Jody pursed her lips but led the way inside. The interior was decorated with beads and tapestries, stereotypical psychic decor. 

“What did the sheriff say?” he asked Jody. 

“Victim was found with a hole in the base of her skull and her brains….” She paused and turned to Missouri. “Sorry,” she whispered. 

Missouri set her jaw and turned to Dean. “You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” 

“Wraith.” It felt good to be back on the hunt. This one was going well so far, too. “No forced entry,” he continued, hoping that Missouri could use her psychic mumbo jumbo to figure out that little puzzle. 

“Excuse me, dears,” Missouri replied. She walked back to the front door and began to hum softly, hand shaking as she held it over the doorknob. Jody turned to Dean in confusion. 

“Missouri reads objects, it’s kind of her thing,” Dean explained. 

Missouri stood there for a moment longer before turning back to the two hunters, her face set with anger. “He pretended to be a customer, said he needed help. Dede always was a soft touch.” She paused to take a reading over the chair. “He is a wraith,” she said, nodding. 

Dean and Jody exchanged a look. 

“But,” Missouri continued, “he’s picked up a taste for our kind.” 

“He feeds on psychics?” Jody asked incredulously. 

Missouri opened her eyes to look at Jody. “Yes he does.” She trailed her hand over a spot of blood on the table, grief written on her face. She moaned softly, her face scrunching up into a more anguished expression. 

“Missouri?” Dean said, rushing toward her. “You okay?” 

She gasped. “James!” 

***

Sam regretted letting Dean leave when Jack woke up an hour later and began to cry. He carried him into the kitchen and prepared a bottle of formula, remembering to test the temperature on his wrist before putting the bottle in Jack’s mouth. But Jack was not having it; he turned his head away and continued to wail. 

Oh, Chuck, did he need a diaper change? Sam carried the baby into the nursery and set him on a blanket on top of a Men of Letters desk, their makeshift changing table. He made a mental note to buy some kid-friendly decorations when they had the chance; the walls in the bunker were bare and dull, and it pained him to think that Jack could have had that beautiful nursery in the house in Washington. He and Dean had set up the furniture that they had taken from Washington, but the room still didn’t feel like a child’s room. 

Jack squirmed as Sam undid the snaps of his pajamas. He glanced around for something to give Jack to distract him, and his eyes landed on a photograph on the floor. Before it even registered in his mind what the subject of the photograph was, he held it above Jack’s tiny face. It was a picture of Cas. He wasn’t sure when it had been taken, but in it he was looking out the window of a diner. Sam figured that Dean had taken it. 

With Jack distracted by the photograph being waved above him, he finished taking off the onesie. He set the picture on the blanket next to Jack, and began to speak to him as he dealt with the diaper. He had been right– it was dirty. 

“Hey, little guy,” he cooed, pulling a clean diaper from the box on the floor next to the desk, “I know you don’t remember him, but that’s Cas. Castiel. He’s an angel. Yeah, he watched over your mom while she carried you in her tummy.” Jack made a gurgling noise at this. “Yeah, you used to be in your mom’s tummy. Her name was Kelly. She loves you very much. So does Cas.” He wondered where Cas was– he figured angels wouldn’t go to Heaven in the afterlife, since that’s where they were in life. Maybe angels didn’t have an afterlife. 

Sam grabbed Jack a new, clean onesie– this one blue with a teddy bear on the front– and put it on him, thankful that he got no complaint in the form of exploding lightbulbs this time. 

“Yeah, the PJs aren’t so bad, are they?” he said softly as he tossed the dirty diaper in the trash can by the door, then picked Jack back up, cradling him against his chest. He walked back to the library, grabbing a parenting book that he’d found in one of the bags from the Washington house. He settled into the leather reclining chair in the corner with Jack laid across his chest. He began to whimper, so Sam set down the book again and grabbed a blanket that Dean had thrown over the back of the chair the other day. 

“Okay, buddy,” he whispered, wrapping Jack in the blanket. “Do you want to hear about angels?” The baby blinked sleepily at him. “Angels work for God, or at least, most of them do. Some of them rebelled, like your father, Lucifer. But not all the ones who rebelled are bad. Castiel rebelled too, and he’s… he was the best angel.” Sam sighed. “He was our friend. He was like a brother to me.” Jack almost seemed to understand, in the way he was looking at Sam. “Cas was supposed to be your dad,” Sam whispered, “And me and Dean, we would’ve been your uncles, I guess.” He didn’t think Dean would get demoted to uncle status if Cas were around, but he didn’t need to get into the strange and complicated relationship between the dead angel and his brother with a baby. “But I guess we’ll just have to take turns being your dads.” 

Jack blinked slowly, succumbing to sleep. Sam leaned back, thankful for the break. Maybe he’d take a nap, too. 

***

Dean tried not to eavesdrop on Missouri’s conversation in the other room. He perked up when she came rushing back around the corner. 

“I want you to go to Buckhead, Georgia,” she instructed, “this is the address.” She handed Dean a slip of paper. “My son, James, he lives there with my granddaughter, Patience.” Fear permeated her voice, and Dean hated to hear his friend like this. “This wraith, he’ll be coming for them. That’s what I saw.” 

“All right, well, let’s go,” Dean said, nodding to Jody and then Missouri. 

“No,” Missouri said, stopping Dean. “I just complicate things.” He stared at her. “James won’t have anything to do with me,” she explained. 

“Why not?” Jody asked. 

Missouri paused before answering. “He has his reasons.” Dean wanted to say something, but he didn’t know how to handle the look of sorrow on his friend’s face. “I’ll just stay behind, say my farewells to Dede.” 

“I don’t like that at all,” Dean said. What if the wraith came for Missouri? He didn’t want to lose another friend. 

“You don’t have to like it,” Missouri said sternly, “you just have to do it. You save my family, you hear me, Dean Winchester?” 

Dean nodded. He could never argue with Missouri. Besides, he couldn’t let her lose her family. Not like he had lost his. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good,” she whispered. Her expression softened. “And thank you.” 

He and Jody rushed out the door, and both hopped into the Impala. It was nice to have her beside him in the passenger seat. They roared down the highway, the silence between them deafening. Dean wondered how much Sam had spilled to her about recent events. 

“So,” Jody began, “how are you, really?” 

Dean sighed. Leave it to Jody to knock down his walls as if they were made of paper. “Terrible. I lost my mom and my best friend and got a kid dumped on me in one day.” 

Jody gaped at him for a moment, then cleared her throat. “What happened?” she asked softly. 

“We…” he swallowed thickly. “We found Kelly and… and Cas. They were renting this little house on a lake in Washington. We were supposed to grab him and Kelly, get them back to the bunker, where they’d be safe….” He didn’t want to go over every detail. It was too painful. “Things went to shit, as they always do. Somehow, the birth ripped open this… this portal to an alternate universe. I know, it sounds crazy, crazier than usual.” Jody scoffed at him, but didn’t say anything. “We trapped Lucifer in the other world, but in the process he grabbed Mom and pulled her through, and Cas….” He couldn’t say it. Tears threatened to spill down his face, but there was no way he was crying in front of Jody, mother-figure though she may be. 

“Dean, I’m so sorry,” she said softly. He rubbed a hand over his eyes quickly. 

“Yeah, well, now we’ve got Jack to take care of,” Dean said, not wanting to dwell on the exact thing he’d wanted to not think about for the entire trip. 

“Jack?” 

“Sam didn’t tell you?” Dean asked. Jody shook her head. “Jack is Lu– Kelly’s kid.” He couldn’t possibly name Lucifer as the kid’s parent. The little guy was so… little. Helpless. Even if he did shatter lightbulbs when he got too cranky. 

“And Kelly…” 

“Didn’t make it.” He hadn’t known Kelly well, but he still felt sorry for her, and guilty for not being able to save her. 

Jody pursed her lips. “So you and Sam are taking care of her kid?” 

“Yeah.” It was supposed to be Cas. It was supposed to be Cas taking care of Jack. 

There was a Gas-n-Sip ahead, and he took the opportunity to fill the Impala’s tank and escape the conversation. Jody took the hint, and grabbed the nozzle, nodding to Dean to go inside and pay. 

Dean walked quickly into the Gas-n-Sip and grabbed some snacks and tossed them onto the counter for the teenaged employee to scan. “And twenty on the pump,” he said as he reached for his wallet. All of a sudden, a news story on the TV above them caught his attention. 

“There have been two murders in the last twenty-four hours, both at the same local business.” Dread dropped into his stomach like a stone as he looked up at the television screen. He recognized it as Missouri’s friend Dede’s house. “The latest victim has been identified as Missouri Moseley. She was found dead at the scene.” He didn’t hear the rest as his pulse roared in his ears. 

What was it with him and losing people? He had only just gotten to see her again, and now the universe had taken her away. If he had just stayed with her, she would still be alive. 

He paid for the gas and snacks and made his way back to Jody, trying not to let the grief tear at him. If he let Missouri get to him, then he would think about Mom, and then he would think about Cas, and he couldn’t afford that right now, not when he was responsible for the lives of Missouri’s family. 

“Missouri is dead,” he said bluntly, as soon as he was out by the car with Jody. “And you know what?” he continued before Jody could reply, “she knew it. She– I mean, we could’ve protected her.” He didn’t want to dump all his guilt on Jody, but it was spilling out of him like an overflowing rain barrel. 

“Do you want to head back?” Jody asked, level-headed as always. 

Dean shook his head. “No. No, Missouri wanted us to save her family. That’s exactly what we’re going to do.” 

He ducked into the Impala and peeled out of the parking lot while Jody fumbled with the seat belt. 

They arrived in Georgia sooner than expected, likely due to Dean’s borderline reckless driving. Jody didn’t even try to bring up any of the events they’d previously discussed. 

When he knocked on the white front door, a bald man in a suit answered. 

“James Turner?” he asked. The man nodded mutely. “We need to talk.” 

“Look,” he replied, “whatever you’re selling, I’m not interested.” He made to close the door, but Dean held it open. 

“It’s about your mom,” Jody said, “Missouri sent us. She’s….” 

“She’s dead.” It was sad news, but at this point, Dean didn’t care. He had a mission, and he intended to complete it. 

“Dead?” James echoed. 

“A wraith got her,” Dean explained. He assumed that the man knew about Missouri’s hunting history. 

James shifted uncomfortably. “Look, whatever game you’re playing here, I talked my mother yesterday.” 

“She died last night. 9:00 pm, according to the coroner’s office.” 

James’ face fell. “I…. No, I….” He looked up at Dean, his face guilt-ridden. “I hung up on her.” 

“James,” Jody said sternly, “I need you to listen to me. Missouri sent us because the thing that killed her, it’s still out there. It’s coming for you and your daughter.” 

James looked at Dean with fear. “She’s still at school.” 

“Where’s her school?” 

***

Sam jolted awake, whatever nasty dream he’d had already disappearing from his memory like smoke. He glanced down at the baby sleeping in his arms, and was surprised to see him awake and staring at something over Sam’s shoulder. He turned to see a moth bouncing against the lightbulb of the lamp behind him. 

“Do you have wings?” he asked absentmindedly. He hoped not. A toddler with wings? That could be disastrous. 

Jack just gurgled in response. 

Sam picked up the parenting book he’d set aside, and bounced Jack gently on his knee. He turned to the third page, a timeline of developmental milestones. He wondered if Jack would grow at the same rate as human babies; after all, he was part archangel. He figured it would be too much to hope for a nephilim parenting book. Then again, he was sitting in the largest collection of supernatural knowledge in North America. 

Jack began to whine, so Sam set the book down again and carried him to the kitchen. 

“You just don’t do anything but eat, sleep, poop, and cry, huh,” Sam muttered softly. 

***

Dean raced down the hallway of the high school, gun at the ready and Jody right behind him. As soon as he turned the corner and saw the wraith pinning some teenage girl– Patience– to the floor, he took the shot. He knew it wouldn’t take the monster out, but the man yelled and ran, leaving the girl gasping on the floor. Dean tore after him, figuring that Jody would make sure Patience was alright. The wraith grabbed a mop before tearing out the double doors, then slid it into the handles so that Dean was barred inside. He smirked at Dean through the window before running away. 

“I got it, stay with her!” Dean yelled to Jody as he took off, back toward the main doors. Down the stairs, through a hallway and out into the back parking lot. 

He stopped, taking in his surroundings, looking for movement. All of a sudden, he turned to see a pair of headlights coming at him, and he lept to the side before the van could run him over. The tires screeched as the van raced out of the parking lot, leaving Dean panting on the asphalt. He jogged back inside to see Jody and Patience still sitting in the hallway. 

“I lost him,” he sighed, then turned to the girl. “Did you get a good look at him?” 

“Yeah,” she gasped. “He, um, he tried to stab me with that.” She pointed at a bonelike spike on the floor, dripping with blood. The wraith’s claw. 

“Wait,” Jody said, leaning down to pick up the tube, “you–” 

“Yeah,” Patience replied. 

“Wow.” 

Dean nodded his approval, though his mind was on the rest of the wraith, still out and able to kill. “All right, well, that thing might come back, so…” 

“Why?” she asked. 

Jody shrugged. “All we know is that he stalks psychics.” 

“Psychics?” Patience echoed. “Then what does he want with me?” 

Dean resisted the urge to scoff at her. “What do you think?” he quipped. His hip hurt from falling on the concrete. 

“I….” Patience looked at Jody. “No. I’m not….” She scoffed. “I get deja vu sometimes, but that’s normal. I’m normal.” She reminded Dean of Sam when he was first dealing with his psychic episodes. 

“Your grandmother was psychic,” Jody explained, “and she sent us to protect you.” 

“My grandma said she was psychic, but she’s a fraud,” she tried to correct Jody. “She doesn’t care about me, she ditched me. Me and Dad, right after Mom died.” 

Dean looked at Jody, his confused expression mirrored in hers. “Okay,” he said, “this woman you’re describing, that walked out on her family, that’s not who Missouri was at all.” He didn’t want to be angry with this poor scared girl, but he would not allow her to drag Missouri’s name through the mud. 

Patience paused. “Why do you keep saying ‘was?’” 

Dean looked at Jody, hoping that she would have the right words where he did not. She was just as silent. 

***

When Jack was done being fed, Sam brought him back to the nursery to sleep in his crib. The little guy was tired all the time, but according to the parenting books and websites, that was normal baby behavior. Human baby behavior. 

The room was warm, so Sam unwrapped him from his blanket. He swung his tiny fists around for a moment, then settled into the mattress. 

“We should probably get you some toys and stuffed animals, huh?” Sam said softly. Jack just stared at him. “Let’s see, we’ll get you some cars, and blocks, and a teddy bear.” He smiled gently. “Maybe we’ll get you a little angel to watch over you in your sleep.” He knew it was silly to think that angels really kept children safe as they slept, but Kelly’s words echoed through his head. ‘There’s an angel watching over you.’ 

Jack gurgled at him, and looked at him almost expectantly. He recalled that Dean usually sang him to sleep. 

“Oh, kiddo, I’m a terrible singer, you don’t want me to sing you to sleep.” 

Jack whined in response, as if threatening to cry. 

“All right, all right. Um.” He cleared his throat. “Rockabye baby, in the tree top….” 

***

“You told me she left us,” Patience yelled, “But this…” She inhaled deeply. “Dad, is it true?” 

James nodded solemnly. “Yes.” 

“You said she was fake!” 

“She was.” James paused. “At least, I felt like she was. After. I always believed in her powers. I had total faith in them. But….” He took a deep breath. “They were wrong.” 

“What do you mean?” Patience asked, her voice as hard as stone. 

“When your mother got sick, and grandma told me, she said ‘Tess will be alright.’ She promised me, but then….” James’ eyes grew distant, haunted. “Tess….” He sighed. “She apologized after. She said, ‘nothing’s ever set in stone.’ But I… I couldn’t forgive her.” 

“So you cut your mother out of your life?” Dean said scathingly. 

James could only hang his head in remorse. 

“This whole time, I could’ve had a relationship with her,” Patience said, softly but sharply. 

“Growing up with her, she was always on the road, hunting!” James tried to explain, his voice taught. Dean looked away. He knew exactly what James had gone through. “I spent my entire childhood terrified of monsters, of– of losing her!” His voice became soft. “I didn’t want that life for you. I… I didn’t want her encouraging–” 

“Encouraging what?!” Patience cried. 

James closed his eyes for a moment before answering. “Grandma believed…. She felt you had ‘the gift.’ But– but you didn’t. Baby, you don’t. I mean, you’re eighteen. If you had powers, we’d know it by now.” 

“My dream, last night, I saw what happened before it happened. I….” 

James looked down, shock and shame written on his face. 

“Your daughter is psychic,” Jody said, stepping toward the fighting pair. “That’s why the wraith’s coming after her.” 

James set his jaw. “So we run. We can work all of this out later. But right now, get your things. We need to go.” 

Patience looked at Dean, likely hoping for a different plan, but Dean agreed with James. Best get them out of here. 

“Patience, I said now,” James yelled. Dean almost flinched, reminded of his father. The three adults stood in silence, an almost solid tension between them. 

After a few minutes, a scream tore through the house. Without a moment’s hesitation, they all sprinted upstairs, but Patience was gone. A curtain flapped by the open window, highlighting the fact that she had been taken. Without a word, Dean ran back downstairs, opened a laptop sitting on the kitchen table, and began working on hacking the traffic cameras in the area. James watched him morosely. Jody went into the other room and called the sheriff. 

When she returned, her face was grim. So, nothing from the sheriff. “You get anything from the traffic cam?” she asked. 

“It caught the van at a light a few blocks from here, but it’s too blurry to get a plate.” He looked up. “What’d the sheriff say?” 

“He said they’ll keep an eye out, but….” She looked at James. His face grew went from melancholy to anguished. He stood from where he was sitting at the counter and left the kitchen. He returned with a map and a collection of crystals. 

“James?” Jody prompted. 

“When I was a boy and my mother went out on hunts, I got scared. She gave me these.” He held out the crystals. “Lithomantic gems.” He tossed them onto the center of the map. “Divination tools. She taught me how to use them so we could always find each other wherever we were.” 

“You?” Dean quipped, “doing magic?” He knew he should take it easy on the guy, but he’d lost too many friends lately. He didn’t have the energy for politeness. 

“Desperate times,” James shot back. Dean watched as he performed the ritual. He didn’t understand it, but he did understand when James pointed to an abandoned warehouse on the map. Always with the abandoned warehouses. 

They drove quickly and silently, Baby’s engine roaring. James was out the door they had fully screeched to a halt. 

Dean led the way, gun at the ready. He burst through the door, then turned the corner while James rushed to his daughter’s side, scanning left and right. He stalked through the halls, searching for the wraith. Then he heard thudding and grunting in a different part of the warehouse. 

“Jody?” he yelled, pointing his gun down the next hallway. He stalked forward swiftly. 

“Dean!” he heard Patience yell, but the wraith was already onto him, jumping from between two hanging tarps. It slammed him against the wall, knocking the gun from his hand, then threw him against a post. In the split second before the wraith stabbed him with a knife, Dean managed to duck beneath his arm and drive a knee between his legs. He grabbed it by the shoulders and shoved it away from him, then grabbed a length of rope hanging from a nearby pillar. In one swift motion, he deflected the wraith’s stabbing motion and wrapped the rope around its wrists. The wraith shoved him off again, but Dean landed next to a scythe. Perfect. Dean grabbed it and swung at the creature, but it shoved him against another wall. But he was prepared for this; he swung out of the wraith’s grasp and switched their positions, so that the wraith was against the wall, and drove the wraith’s knife into its stomach. It must have been silver, because the wraith gasped and fell to the ground. 

Dean stood there for a moment, catching his breath, before walking back to the room where Jody was sitting up from being knocked to the floor. 

“You okay?” he asked. 

“Uh-huh,” Jody grunted back. 

Patience seemed remarkably unfazed for a teenage girl tied to a chair by a brain-eating monster. 

“How did you…?” Dean mumbled. How had she known to warn him about the wraith jumping at him? That hallway was not visible from where Patience was tied. 

She shook her head in disbelief. “Guess I’m psychic.” 

“Huh.” 

Within a few hours, they were back at the Turners’ house. Jody was leaning on the back bumper of the Impala, next to Dean. 

“The way you handled that wraith, you still got it,” Jody mused. 

“Guess so,” Dean conceded. He didn’t want to admit that killing a monster was not as therapeutic as he had hoped. Sure, he’d been distracted at the time, but now all his grief was back and weighing heavy on his shoulders. And he still had Jack to take care of when he got home. 

“Hey,” said Jody, and he looked up to see Patience walking toward the both of them. 

“You know,” Dean said, “I said it before, but good work in there.” He didn’t want to admit that he probably could have been taken out if it weren’t for Patience’ warning. 

“Thanks,” she replied, “for everything.” 

“Given any thought to what’s next?” he asked. 

“I don’t know. School’s in an hour, so I guess calculus.” Dean smiled a bit at that. She reminded him of Sam. 

“And your gift?” Jody asked. 

She frowned. “I talked to my dad. He thinks I should put it away.” Dean frowned. “Dad says we should just get back to normal.” She paused. “Maybe he’s right.” 

“He is,” Dean said. Jody gave him a look, but he ignored her. He would not let this girl go down the same road as him. She didn’t deserve this life. “This life– hunting monsters– there’s no joy in it.” He thought of Cas, his wings scorched into the ground. He’d never get that image out of his head, would he? “There’s nothing but pain, horror, and death.” He breathed deeply. “So if you get a chance at normal… you take it.” He nodded, more to himself than to Patience, and walked around to the driver’s side door. 

Jody called after Patience, but Dean didn’t want to listen to her try to adopt another wayward girl. Sure, she and her girls had found each other through hunting, and they were happy together, but they were the one-in-a-million exception to the rule. Suddenly, he thought of Jack. His kid. 

No, Lucifer’s. 

No, Kelly’s. 

No, Cas’. 

No. Cas was dead. They were all dead or otherwise unavailable. Was he Jack’s father? He sure was playing the part. He thought of the little dude in the bumblebee onesie, staring up at him through the folds of a blanket. 

How could that tiny thing be evil? He didn’t want to believe that Jack could be evil, but he couldn’t dismiss the possibility. Not when he was the reason that Mom and Cas were dead.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one of rewriting 13x04, The Big Empty

Cas wasn’t sure if his eyes were really open. Everything was dark. 

No, that wasn’t it. 

What was he looking at?

Nothing. 

Pure nothing. 

The only reason he knew he was awake was because of the longing. 

It wasn’t Dean, although he thought he could feel traces of Dean’s longing. It wasn’t Sam. 

Somebody missed him. Somebody who was powerful enough to reach him here, wherever ‘here’ was. 

***

“Hey!” Sam yelled as he entered the bunker, “how you feeling?” 

Dean ignored him, staring at the article on his computer screen. He’d read the same paragraph at least five times over. 

“What’re you working on?” Sam prodded. 

“Dead guy in Madison,” Dean explained, “police say it was a home invasion, but neighbor claims that she saw the vic’s dead wife leave the crime scene.” 

“Let’s check it out,” Sam replied. 

“Uh, what about Jack?” 

“Actually, I, uh, thought we might bring him along.” 

Dean scoffed. “Uh, hell no. He’s a friggin’ baby, Sam.” 

“Yeah, and we don’t have a babysitter,” Sam retorted. 

“I’m not gonna bring this kid on a hunt so that he gets ganked before he’s even two months old! If that happens, then Cas and Mom–” his throat caught as his brain froze around the words “–then they died for nothing.” 

“Mom’s not–” 

“Mom’s dead, Sam. Lucifer ripped out her friggin’ heart. Now the sooner you can wrap your head around that, the sooner we can both move on.” He wished he’d used less harsh words, but really, how could he say it any different? It was the way it was. 

“So you’re saying you want to move on, from Mom,” Sam said slowly. 

Dean stared at Sam, trying to find the words for how he felt. But he could never figure that out, even on a good day, so he did what he usually did– deflected. “Right now, I wanna kill some dead guy’s dead wife.” 

“And, what, you’re going alone?” 

Dean shrugged. “Why not?” 

Sam glared at him. “We’re taking Jack.” 

***

The impala rumbled to a stop outside a big white suburban house. 

“All right, here we go,” Dean said, pulling out a small notepad, “Victim, Wes Bailey. His wife, Erica, died six months ago. Heart thing, out of the blue. Question is, why’d she come back from the dead and knife his ass?” 

“Could be a ghost, or maybe a revanant,” Sam offered. It didn’t seem likely, but who knew what went on behind these suburban facades? 

Dean perked up as a woman stepped out of the neighboring house. “Hey, there’s our witness.” He opened the car door and made to get out. 

“No, you’re on dad duty,” Sam said. 

Dean froze. “Uh, no, I am not strapping a baby to my chest while I question a witness.” 

“Okay, but it’s your turn to take him. It’s hot out, we can’t leave him.” 

“Sam, no.” 

Sam raised his fists to rocheambeau. Dean rolled his eyes and raised his fists. Sam won when Dean played scissors, as always. He chuckled as Dean stood by the backseat, struggling with the straps on the carrier. He left Dean by the car and walked up to the witness, who was hosing down the plants in her garden. 

“Hello, ma’am,” he greeted, holding up his FBI badge. “I just have a few questions about Wes Bailey’s death.” 

“Of course,” the woman replied. 

“What did you see that night?” he asked. 

She scoffed. “I was out on my porch, taking my dog out, and saw Erica Bailey walk right up the front path and through the door.” 

Sam nodded. “Now, you’re sure it was his wife?” Dean walked up to them and stood next to Sam. He could feel irritation radiating off of his brother. 

The woman stared at them incredulously, though Sam wasn’t sure if that was due to the baby strapped to Dean’s chest or Sam’s accusation that she did not recognize her own neighbor. “I’ve lived next to Erica for six years. I watered her plants every time she and Wes took vacation. I’m certain it was her.” 

“Alright,” Sam continued, “what about that night? Notice anything else? Maybe, uh, flickering lights, cold spots?” 

“I, uh… I think a street light did flicker.” She nodded resolutely, then frowned. “Maybe.” 

Jack began to whine loudly, so they excused themselves and made their way into the house, to the site of the crime. 

Sam pulled out his EMF reader as Dean swayed in one spot, trying to lull Jack back to sleep. 

“No EMF,” he announced, putting the device back in his pocket. 

“So a revanant,” Dean said. “I guess we’re taking a trip to the graveyard. 

***

Jack began to cry, his wails echoing through the dark graveyard. Dean quickly pulled himself out of the dirt hole and picked him up from his carrier. He held Jack close and hummed softly until he fell asleep. A trick that Dean was increasingly thankful. He continued to pace slowly, still holding Jack. 

“Are you going to help?” Sam complained. 

“I’m on baby duty, Sam,” Dean said. 

Sam scoffed, and turned back to the hole. His shovel thudded against wood. He scraped more dirt away, and opened the lid of the coffin. Inside was the body of a blonde woman, drawn and just starting to rot. 

“All right, I guess we’re back to ghost,” Dean sighed. 

“I don’t get it,” Sam said, letting the lid fall closed, “I mean, a ghost that won’t show up on EMF? Doesn’t make any sense.” 

“Yeah, well, what does these days?” Dean paused to pick up the salt canister with one hand and shake salt onto the body. He hoped the movement wouldn’t wake Jack. “I mean, we’ve got portals to apocalyptic worlds, we’ve got shape-shifting demons. Dealing with a whole new set of tiddlywinks. I say we just do what we do.” He sighed while Sam tossed a pack of matches into the grave. He watched the flames lick up against the dirt, trying not to let his mind wander back to the pyre by the lake in Washington. 

***

“Hello?” Cas called out into the nothingness. He kept walking forward, as he had been doing for hours, or maybe years, he didn’t know. “Hello?!” There had to be someone out there. Someone who could get him out of this place. He wondered if it was any use walking around when there was nothing to see, nothing under his feet, nothing everywhere. 

All of a sudden, he felt it. A presence. Someone, or something, was with him, watching him, surrounding him. 

“I know you’re there,” he declared to the void, “I can feel you.” 

“Hello,” came a voice, sounding like a twisted version of his– or Jimmy’s– voice. 

He turned to see a figure that looked exactly like him– but no, he had never smiled like that before, with such malice and glee. It frightened him. 

“What are you?” he asked, trying to be braver than he felt. 

“Oh, just your friendly neighborhood cosmic entity,” the thing quipped lightly, its voice much higher than Cas’. Was that a German accent it was using? 

“Why do you look like me?” It wasn’t the most important of the questions racing through Cas’ head, but the whole situation was very disconcerting. 

“Oh yes, yes,” the thing chuckled, fussing with the trench coat, “well, I show up in my real form, and you’d freak out, rip out your own eyes, et cetera, and that would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it, for both of us?” 

Cas despised the way it flaunted his body, but decided to move on to more pressing issues. “What is this place?” 

“Oh, yes, excellent question,” the thing answered, as though he were a teacher praising an inquisitive student, “You see, before God and Amara, creation, destruction, Heaven, Hell, your precious little Earth, what was there?” He looked at Cas expectantly. 

Cas decided to play along with its student-teacher game. “Nothing.” 

“Yes,” it said, nodding. Cas hated the way it stretched his face into that condescending and excessively gleeful smile. “That’s right, nothing. Nothing but Empty. And you are soaking in it. Angels and demons, you all come here when you die.” 

Panic wrapped its vice-like arms around him. “Every angel that ever died is here?” He thought of all that he had done to Heaven, how many angels he’d killed, the war he’d caused. He thought of Naomi. 

“Yes,” the Empty said, reveling in Cas’ distress, “sleeping an endless peaceful sleep. You know, I was sleeping, too.” The entity’s voice had taken on a mockingly conspiring tone, like Cas was a child he had allowed an extra serving of dessert. “Hey, uh, since we’re pals, there’s something I’ve gotta know. I just gotta ask.” It leaned toward Cas, anger clouding its expression. “Why are you awake?” He paused. “‘Cause, fun fact– in all of forever, nothing ever wakes up here. I mean ever. And second fun fact– when you woke up, I woke up, and I don’t like being awake. So,” the being took a deep breath, which Cas knew to be more of a dramatic and theatrical thing, to display its displeasure, but it unnerved him nonetheless, “what’s up, smart guy?” 

“I don’t know,” Cas mumbled. All he knew was that he had to get out of here. Back to Dean, and Sam, and Kelly. How long had he been gone? Had Lucifer killed the Winchesters? Had Jack been born? Was he good, or had he gone dark side as Dean had so vehemently warned him? 

“Well, think!” the Empty cried. 

“The Winchesters,” Cas replied, despite every instinct telling him not to direct this being’s anger at his friends. But he was scared, more scared than he’d ever been in his entire life, more scared than when they’d faced Michael and Lucifer at the cemetery all those years ago. “Sam and Dean, they must’ve made a deal.” 

“No no no no,” it chided. “Not with me, and I’m the only one that has any pull here.” It grinned maniacally. “Not Heaven, not Hell, not G–O–D himself. So, think harder. Rack that perky–” it tapped Cas’ forehead, punctuating its words “–little– brain– of yours.” 

“Stay away from me,” Cas growled, his skin crawling. 

“Okay, fine.” The Empty tilted its head to the side in a grotesque imitation of the gesture Cas usually made. “I’ll rack it for you.” 

It reached up and grabbed at the top of Cas’ skull. Pain seared through his vessel, and he dropped to his knees, screaming. 

***

Sam sat back down in the passenger seat of the Impala, ignoring the irritated expression on Dean’s face as he bounced Jack on his knee. He figured they shouldn’t bring the baby onto this crime scene with them, since this one was crawling with cops. 

“Get anything?” Dean huffed. 

“Yeah, cops found the victim, Gloria Simon, about an hour ago. Something ripped her apart.” 

“Our kind of something?” 

“No, Gloria was on the phone with roadside assistance when she died. Operator said she was talking to someone named Scotty.” 

“And?” 

“According to the cops, Scotty is her son. Or was her son. He drowned in ‘96.” 

“Did you check for EMF?” 

“Yeah, it was clean.” 

“So we got two ghosts in two days and no EMF.” He sighed. “So aside from getting dead, what do Gloria and Wes have in common?” 

Sam shrugged, also at a loss. 

***

“Ah, shrinks,” Dean quipped from the driver’s seat as he read the file that Sam had handed him, listing a therapist as the only tie between the two victims, “snake oil for the mind.” 

“Or, how healthy people deal,” Sam replied, letting his bitchface sink into his tone. 

Dean ignored him. “All right, let’s see how good old Gloria was dealing.” He read from the journal in a painfully condescending voice. “‘And now that I’ve achieved catharsis, I can truly see the program works.’ The program, man? I mean, she’s one Kool-Aid away from Jonestown.” He grit his teeth. “What’d Wes’ journal say?” 

“More of the same,” Sam conceded, “he was really into the whole catharsis thing.” Before he could continue, Jack gurgled, letting the two of them know that he was finally awake. “Hi, Jack,” Sam said softly, turning in the seat. 

“Okay, so let’s say that Hannibal chick is a medium, right?” Dean continued, not letting himself get distracted from the case, “She’s talking to spirits, she’s pissing them off somehow, a ghost shows up, notches a kill, and takes off.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said, unsure. “But then what? Once it’s gone, no EMF?” He mulled it over for a moment. “Okay, but if we go in, we can’t go in as FBI, not with doctor-patient confidentiality.” 

“All right, so we have to go in as something else,” Dean said, turning the keys in the ignition. 

***

The therapist’s office was in an honest to goodness house. Dean didn’t like it one bit. Who did these shrinks think they were, trying to trick their clients with the homey atmosphere? 

“This is a dumb idea,” he bitched to Sam, unbuckling Jack from his car seat and securing him in the bjorn that he hadn’t bothered to take off while he drove. 

“Just follow my lead,” Sam retorted, not taking any of Dean’s crap. 

“Yeah, doctor’s gonna eat our livers with some fava beans and a bottle of Chianti.” He slammed the door closed, then double checked to make sure Jack’s head was supported. 

Sam ignored Dean as they made their way up the front porch steps and into the house-office. 

“Can I help you?” asked the receptionist, a smartly-dressed man with his arms full of files. 

“Yeah, we’re hoping to see the doctor,” Sam replied. Dean suppressed the urge to add ‘obviously’ at the end of the sentence. 

“Oh,” the receptionist replied, “I’m sorry, you caught us at the end of our day. Maybe tomorrow.” 

“No, today is good,” Dean retorted irrately. “Like right now.” He hoped he still looked intimidating with a baby strapped to his chest, but that seemed unlikely. 

“Uh, he, uh,” Sam stuttered, trying to save manners. Like that mattered. “We just need a moment of her time.” 

“You’ve lost someone recently?” came a voice from behind them. Dean turned to see a woman standing on the stairs. The doctor. 

“No,” said Dean. 

“Yes,” said Sam. 

Both of the brothers glared at each other before Sam continued. “A few people, actually.” 

The doctor walked over to them, and shook each of their hands in turn. “Doctor Mia Vallens,” she said as an introduction. 

“Dean,” he replied curtly. The last thing he wanted right now was to talk about his feelings. They were hunting, damn it. 

“That’s, our, uh…” Sam paused, pointing at the baby strapped to Dean’s chest. “That’s our nephew, Jack. I’m Sam.” 

“I see. Please, this way.” The doctor led them to a side room, decorated in the same minimalist but homey way as the rest of the place. “These people you lost, who were they?” 

“Our mother and… uh, Jack’s dad. Our brother.” Dean was happy to let Sam do the talking. He was distracting himself by gently running his fingers over the thin blonde hair on Jack’s head. The baby remained asleep. 

“I’m sorry to hear it. They passed suddenly?” 

“Yes.” 

“Mm. Most of the people I see are in the same boat.” She sat in a white armchair, leaving the pristine white couch for Sam and Dean. “No goodbye, no closure.” Dean sat slowly, trying not to jostle Jack too much as his legs scrunched upwards. 

“Right,” Sam replied, “yeah, pretty much the same for us. So, how does this usually work? You know, with your patients?” 

“Usually they just start talking about the person or people they’ve lost,” Dr. Vallens explained. 

“All right, well, Mom was great, now she’s dead,” Dean said quickly. “Now, what’s the deal with catharsis?” 

“I’m sorry?” Dr. Vallens replied, taken aback by Dean’s rough tone. 

“Uh, we were wondering what that is,” Sam covered, obviously irritated at Dean’s lack of commitment to the role of grieving patient. “A patient of yours, Gloria Simon, she referred us. She’s a family friend.” Dean was impressed by Sam’s on-the-spot lying. 

“I don’t talk about my patients,” Dr. Vallens said sternly, “and Gloria wasn’t supposed to talk about me.” 

“Sure,” Sam said, “got it. But your process–” 

“My program is a range of things,” she interrupted, “talk therapy, meditation. You ever journal?” 

“Our dad did,” Sam offered, despite the fact that John’s journal was certainly not what the doctor was asking about. 

“Dean?” Shit. She was talking to him. He brought his gaze away from the baby. “You journal?” 

“Ever since I was a little girl,” Dean quipped. 

Dr. Vallens didn’t react. “You think this shrink stuff is a load of crap. Am I right?” 

“How’d you guess?” he replied, smirking. His heart pounded in his chest. He did not want to talk about that night. He would not. 

“Then why are you here?” 

“Because,” Sam said loudly, “we both agreed to give it a shot, right?” Dean smiled tersely in return. “My brother, he’s not processing his grief.” 

“Really?” Dean said flatly. He wouldn’t have gone on the hunt if he’d known that Sam would try to get him to open up to some overpaid shrink. “No, I’m… I’m good.” He forced a chuckle, as if that could make it true. He wasn’t good, but talking to a stranger about it wasn’t going to solve anything. “I’m good, with death, closure, whole freaking bottle of Jack.” 

“Are you?” Sam asked, his voice strained. 

“Yeah,” Dean replied, forcing the image of Cas’ burned wings to the back of his mind. “Because I know that Mom’s dead, and I know that she’s not coming back.” 

“Okay, I hear what you’re saying,” Sam said softly, “I just wish….” 

“You wish he’d be more open to therapy?” Dr. Vallens offered. 

Sam nodded. “Sure. Exactly.” 

Dean clenched his jaw tightly before speaking. “All right, this is a safe place, right Doc?” Dr. Vallens nodded kindly. “Okay. My brother’s delusional.” 

“Dean.” 

“You said you wanted to give this a shot. Well, here we go. He won’t even admit that Mom’s dead. Won’t even admit it.” 

“Stop.” Dean almost wished he could. Almost. But now that he’d uncapped the bottled up emotions in him, he couldn’t stop the flow. 

“He won’t admit it, because if he admits it, then it’s real. If it’s real, then he has to deal with it, and he can’t handle that.” 

“Right, because this is so easy for you, huh?” Sam said, turning to Dean with his voice raised. Jack whimpered quietly against Dean’s chest. 

“No, it’s not easy,” Dean shot back. 

“Yeah, but at least you had a relationship with Mom. I mean, who would she always call? Who did she look to for everything?” 

“Okay,” Dean said softly. Sam was right, but he didn’t want to talk about it in front of the shrink. 

“You had something with her I never had,” Sam continued, “and now I’m just supposed to accept that I never will have it?” 

Dean was lost for words. What could he possibly say to set this anywhere remotely right? He’d have to think of something for later, because Sam stormed out of the room, leaving Dean with the shrink and the slowly waking baby. 

“Might I ask about the relationship between you and you mother?” Dr. Vallens asked gently. 

Dean sighed. What the hell. Maybe if he talked, Sam would be more willing to forgive him. “She, uh. She left when we were really young. I was four, Sam was just a baby. She didn’t want to go, but it was unavoidable–” he figured that was close enough to the actual situation “–and she came back last year, but it was really hard. She didn’t… our dad didn’t raise us the way she wanted, and there was a lot of regret that she tried to deal with on her own, and it kept her away from us.” He waited expectantly for Dr. Vallens to continue prying. 

“Your brother said you lost someone else, too.” Dean’s heart dropped to his stomach. Cas’ scorched wings flashed across his mind. 

“Cas,” he said, before he could stuff it back down again. 

Dr. Vallens hummed softly. “And Cas was your brother?” 

Dean felt his throat constricting, but it was too late to back out of this now. “I mean… we didn’t share any blood ties, but… he was my best friend. He was… he was family.” 

“And now you’ve taken custody of his son?” she asked, glancing at Jack. 

“Yeah,” he breathed, looking down at the baby, “yeah, his son.” Despite the grief pressing against him from having to talk about Cas, he felt warmth blooming in his chest. Sam was right, this kid could be saved from his devilish destiny. He wasn’t Lucifer’s kid. He was Cas’ kid. And Dean could raise the antichrist to be good if it meant doing right by his friend. 

***

Sam sipped at a glass of water, his hand shaking. Maybe going undercover as patients right after losing Mom and Cas wasn’t the best idea. He felt distracted, thrown off his rhythm. He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on a sign roped across the stairway reading ‘private: do not enter.’ If anything was amiss about the place, it would be through there. 

He glanced around furtively before stepping over the rope and making his way upstairs. At the top of the stairs was a bloodstain across the bannister. Bingo. He drew his gun and continued his search. Through the first door he opened was a bathroom, bloodstains illuminated on the bathtub’s curtain. 

He sighed and drew back the curtain, then recoiled in disgust. The tub was full of rotting chunks of flesh, mostly skin. He crouched down to inspect the bodily debris closer. Definitely skin. Shifter. 

Dean was alone with her. With the baby. His blood ran cold as he sprinted back downstairs, gun at the ready. 

“She’s a shifter!” he yelled as he burst through the door. Dean leapt to his feet, waking Jack. A nearby lamp exploded, but they ignored it. 

“You killed your patients!” Dean yelled. 

“No!” she cried, raising her hands to shield herself, “No, no.” They stared at her expectantly, keeping their guns trained on her chest. “I am what you say,” she said calmly, eyes wide with fear, “but I have never killed anyone.” 

“Then what are you doing here?” Sam asked. 

“I’m helping people. My patients. I shift into the person they’ve lost so that they can see them one last time, so that they can say goodbye.” 

“Well,” Dean said with disgust, “Wes Bailey, Gloria Simon, they’re both dead.” 

Fear melted into shock. “What?” 

“Gloria was killed by her son,” Dean explained, leaving the accusation in his tone. “Or at least someone who looked like him.” 

“And three nights ago, Wes was killed by somebody who looked like his dead wife,” Sam continued. 

“So, do you want to tell us that you’re innocent again?” Dean’s voice was hard as stone, and Sam hoped he wouldn’t shoot until they’d truly proved that Dr. Vallens had killed those people. It just didn’t sound right to Sam. 

“Okay,” Dr. Vallens said, shaking her head in anguish. “I, um. I have an alibi for Wes. I volunteer at a women’s shelter downtown. I was there that night, you can call them.” She looked at them pleadingly. “I know you guys are hunters. But please, I am telling you the truth.” 

Sam thought of Garth and his family. Not all monsters were bad; maybe Dr. Vallens was a member of that minority. 

Dean glanced at Sam, then left the room, pulling out his phone as he went. Sam watched the psychiatrist as he waited for Dean to return. 

“Alibi checks out,” Dean announced a few minutes later. Jack cooed softly against his chest. 

“Okay, well if you’re not doing this, then who is?” Sam asked, still pointing his gun at Dr. Vallens. 

She paused to think before answering. “Oh, God. I think I know.” She turned to the chest of drawers behind her, and pulled out an ornate white box. From the box she procured a photo of a smiling man with a short beard. “His name’s Buddy. When we got together, I was young and stupid. He’s a shifter, like me. The only one I’d ever met other than my mother. But he liked hurting people.” She paused a moment, tears welling in her eyes. “I left. Changed my face, my name.” She inhaled deeply. “Buddy wouldn’t just kill people. He’d ruin their lives. He said he liked to see the look on their face when they realized they had nothing left.” She looked at Sam pleadingly. “What I’m doing here… I know it can’t make up for what… what he… what we did. But I’m trying.” 

Sam clenched his jaw. “If Buddy is doing this, he’s targeting your patients. So who else has access to this office, your notes, your appointments?” 

Dr. Vallens shook her head. “Patients and staff are in here all day.” 

“If you had to pick one?” Dean asked gruffly. 

She sighed. “Tom, my assistant.” 

“I’ll check it out,” Dean said. 

“With the baby?” Sam asked. 

“Yes, you stay with her.” He walked quickly out of the door.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of 13x04, The Big Empty

Sam sighed, and hung up the phone. “It’s not Tom,” he said to Dr. Vallens. She sighed. For a few more minutes, she just watched as Sam scrubbed through her security footage, searching for eye flares. 

“So,” he said, wanting to break the silence, “Tell me, how exactly does this work with your patients? I mean, you show up as their dead relatives, and they think what?” 

“Honestly?” Dr. Vallens replied, “They don’t really care. They chalk it up to hypnotism, a lucid dream. They explain it away because at the end of the day, they got to say goodbye.” 

Sam thought about it for a moment. “And that works?” 

“Yeah. People? We’re hardwired to want closure. You know?” 

Sam shrugged. Sounded about right to him. 

“You never got to say goodbye either, did you?” 

He remained silent. Despite his desire to talk earlier, now it was time to focus on the case at hand. 

A flash on the screen caught his eye. One of the patients’ eyes had flared. “Who’s that?” He asked, pointing him out. 

“That’s John Driscoll,” Dr. Vallens replied, “I only started seeing him a few weeks ago.” 

“That’s our guy,” Sam said 

***

Cas pushed himself up from the ground, panting. His head pounded, something that had only ever happened once in his life, years ago, after he drank an entire liquor store dry. 

“What did you do to me?” he asked the Empty, trying to sound angry and intimidating, a true warrior of Heaven, but failing miserably. 

“I read your mind, such as it is,” it replied thoughtfully, as Cas raised himself to his knees. 

“What do you want?” 

“What do I want?” the Empty echoed, “I want you to shut up. I want– hmm.” It placed a hand on its cheek in frustration. “Having you awake, it’s like a gnat flew right up here–” it pointed to its temple “– and it’s trapped and it’s buzzing.” 

A realization dawned on Cas. “Having you awake causes you pain,” he said slowly. 

“If you can’t sleep, I can’t sleep,” it explained, anger flashing through its eyes. “And I like sleep. I need sleep.” 

“Then get rid of me,” Cas said. It came out more of a plea than a demand. 

“Oh I should, should I?” The Empty tilted its head. 

“Send me back to Earth.” 

“Or,” it countered, “I throw you so deep into the Empty that you can’t bother me anymore, hmm?” 

“Except you know that won’t work, or you would’ve done it already.” He hoped he sounded more certain than he felt. 

The Empty grimaced. “Pretty smart. Pretty smart, gnat.” 

“Send. Me. Back.” He needed to get back to Dean and Sam. He needed to see Jack. 

“That’s not part of the deal, no. Besides, you don’t want to go back.” 

“Yes, I do.” He needed to go back. “Sam and Dean need me.” 

“Oh, save it,” the Empty groaned. It stepped toward Cas. “I have tiptoed through all your little tulips.” It crouched in front of Cas. “Your memories, your little feelings, yes. I know what you hate.” Its voice dropped to a whisper. “I know who you love.” Cas thought of Dean momentarily, but pushed the thought away quickly. “I know what you fear. There is nothing for you back there.” Cas looked up at his own face, remembering the fight that he and Dean were in the middle of when he died. Did Dean even miss him, after all of that? “No. Here,” the Empty smiled mirthlessly, “let me show you.” It grabbed Cas by his temples, and even more memories came rushing back. 

It showed him the moment Metatron stole his grace to shut the angels out of Heaven. 

It showed him the moment that Lucifer drove the blade through his back. 

It showed him the memory of walking into the river, Leviathans controlling his body, and before that, as he fell to the floor after releasing all the other souls back into Purgatory. 

It showed him Dean’s look of betrayal as he left him in a ring of holy fire. It showed him the look of betrayal on Dean’s face as Cas knocked his hand away, choosing to stay in Purgatory. 

It replayed the deaths of each and every angel he had killed, every brother and sister whose life had flickered away before his eyes. 

Then it showed him every playout of every fake Dean Winchester that Naomi had made him kill. Showed him that day in the crypt, when he nearly killed him for real. “I need you” echoed in his mind. 

Despite reliving some of his very worst memories, he felt a surge of determination. 

The Empty dropped him back to the ground. “Come on, Castiel! Wouldn’t you rather be a fond memory than a constant, festering disappointment?” Cas yelled as the Empty planted a rough kick into his gut. He wanted to get up and fight, but instead he lay still. “Let’s just lay down. Let’s just try and sleep.” The Empty stroked his back, as if he were a toddler trying to stay up past his bedtime. It made Cas’ skin crawl. “Think about it. Infinite peace, yes? No regrets. No pain. Kiddo, save yourself.” 

Cas’ eyes snapped open. He hadn’t even realized they’d been drooping. Yes, he had regrets, but his being awake was a chance to escape, to remedy his mistakes. He had to take it. He lifted his head, and looked up at the Empty, at his own face. If he was awake, then he could fight his way out.

“I’m already saved,” he said. 

That earned him another kick to the stomach. Nevertheless, he pushed himself up onto his knees. 

“You can prance,” he growled, “and you can preen, and you can scream and yell, and remind me of my failings, but somehow, I’m awake. And I will stay awake and I will keep you awake until we both go insane.” The Empty drove its fist into Cas’ face, but he did not fall. Instead, he pushed himself to his feet. “I will fight you.” He looked the Empty squarely in the face. “I will fight you forever. For eternity.” 

The Empty shook its head, baring its teeth in an entirely inhuman way. “No.” 

“Release me.” The Empty just glared. He stepped closer, so that they were chest to chest, and repeated himself. “Release me.” 

Everything went dark. 

***

Dean brushed past Dr. Vallens as she opened the door for him. Jack whined a bit as he entered, but quietly down again quickly. 

“Where’s Sam?” he asked. 

“Buddy’s posing as one of my patients,” Dr. Vallens explained, “Sam traced his phone, so I let him take my car. He left about ten minutes ago.” 

That couldn’t be right. “He didn’t call me,” Dean said. 

“Well, can you blame him?” Dr. Vallens replied. He thought of how Sam had stormed out of the room after their conversation about Mom. He pressed his lips together and pulled his phone out of his pocket. 

The phone rang, but Sam didn’t pick up. “Come on, Sam, pick up the phone,” he muttered. But his brother still didn’t pick up. Jack began to whine again, so Dean set the phone down and paced the room, bouncing lightly. Had he fed the kid recently? No, it had been a while, the kid must be hungry. Dean unstrapped the carrier from his chest and shifted Jack to the crook of his elbow, then pulled a small bottle from an inside pocket. It wasn’t quite as warm as when they used a microwave, but it would have to do. Jack made quiet happy noises as he slurped at the nozzle. 

“You really care about the kid, don’t you?” Dr. Vallens said softly. 

Dean shrugged. Yes, he did, of course he did, but he wasn’t about to get all wishy washy right now. 

“And his father?” 

His heart dropped to his stomach, and he looked up at the therapist, intending to deflect the topic, but he found his resolve failing. Maybe it would be good to talk about him. At the very least, it wouldn’t kill him. 

“He was my best friend,” he said softly. “He was the best friend I’ve ever had, and… we had been fighting, before he….” He swallowed thickly. “I never got the chance to apologize. To tell him I was wrong. And he never got the chance to meet his kid.” Shit, there went the floodgates. He watched Jack finish the bottle, not wanting to look Dr. Vallens in the eye. 

“I see,” she said as Dean tucked the empty bottle back in his pocket. 

“I just… and he died right in front of me. I watched him die.” He shook his head. “After everything, he just…” How could he explain to her? How this wasn’t the first time, but it still hurt, it still felt like all the hope in the world was gone. 

“That’s incredibly traumatic,” Dr. Vallens replied, her voice soft. “Look, Dean, I know you don’t take this seriously, but… it does help to talk about it.” 

Dean scoffed. “It’s not going to bring him back.” 

“No,” she conceded, “But I think what you need right now is forgiveness. You need to forgive yourself.” 

“It’s my fault he’s gone,” Dean argued, “It’s my fault. And now he can’t….” He inhaled deeply. “I don’t know that he should, even if he weren’t….” He thought back to that day, when Cas had found them in the entryway. How despite everything, despite the things Dean had said and done, he had healed Dean’s gimped-out knee. 

“Of course you deserve forgiveness,” Dr. Vallens countered. “I know it’s hard to see that right now, but you do.” 

All of a sudden, the phone rang. He picked it up, and wiped away tears with his sleeve before answering. “Hey, what’s up?” 

“Hey,” Sam said, “I, uh, I was too late. Shifter’s gone, Driscoll’s dead.” 

“Damn it. All right, well, get back here.” 

“Yeah, on my way.” 

Dean hung up, then turned to Dr. Vallens again. “Is there somewhere I can put him down to nap?” He asked. 

“Oh, um. I think you’re going to just have to use the couch,” Dr. Vallens replied apologetically. Dean shrugged and set Jack down, then positioned a blanket over him. He looked so peaceful, so helpless. Dean turned and walked to the entryway to pace while he waited for Sam, trying to think of some way to apologize for what he’d said earlier. 

A few minutes later, Sam walked in. 

“Hey,” Dean greeted, but before he could say anything else, his brother grabbed him by the neck and smashed his head into the wall. Everything went black. 

*** 

Dean woke handcuffed to the fireplace in Dr. Vallens’ office. He pulled against the cuffs, pointlessly, then glanced over to where Jack was sleeping on the couch. The baby was still out cold, unharmed but entirely oblivious to the danger they all were in. Dr. Vallens and a blood-drenched man, the one who had been wearing Sam’s face, were arguing. 

“What am I doing? What are you doing, huh?” the man yelled, “You think you can just leave? Build this whole new life for yourself without me?” Dean wished the kid would wake up and make the lightbulbs explode or something, but for now he was stuck. The man glanced over at Dean and grinned maniacally. “Oh, you’re up.” 

“No!” Dr. Vallens cried, “Don’t hurt them!” 

“Oh, begging for hunters?” the man taunted, “That’s not my girl.” 

“I’m not your girl,” Dr. Vallens spat. 

“You did always think you were too good for me,” the man said, advancing on Dr. Vallens, “even though I gave you everything.” 

“You used me!” Dr. Vallens screamed. Jack stirred, raising a tiny fist to his head. 

“Yeah, well, welcome to the real world, sweetheart,” the man said. Dean wasn’t sure if he even knew that Jack was there. “Everybody uses everybody. I never stopped looking for you. And when I found this place, when I saw all that warm, fuzzy good you were doing…” he grabbed Dr. Vallens by the chin, and pushed her into the wall. “I couldn’t let you have that. So I took it all away, and it was fun.” 

“You’re a…” Dr. Vallens said shakily, tears streaming down her face. 

“What? A monster? Well, so are you. And it’s about time you embraced that.” He turned to Dean, who had been unable to reach the lock pick in his back pocket. “So I’m not going to kill these two.” So he had seen Jack there. “You are.” He pulled out a gun– Dean was more than peeved to see that it was his gun– and pointed it at Dr. Vallens. “You end them, or you die. Courtesy of Tweedledee’s silver bullets. So what’s it gonna be, Princess?” 

Dr. Vallens raised her arms to the side and looked the man squarely in the eye. “Shoot me.” She stepped forward so that her chest was pressed against the barrel of the gun. “Shoot me!” 

The sound of car doors slamming outside caught the man’s attention. Sam. He glanced out the window, and grinned. 

“Look,” he drawled, turning to Dean, “Baby brother. Or, well, I guess not that much of a baby.” He walked toward Dean, and pointed the gun at the closed door, despite Dr. Vallens screaming at him to stop. “Like shooting hunters in a barrel,” he joked. Dean could hear Sam’s footsteps outside the office. 

“Sam, no!” he yelled. The shifter promptly hit Dean in the face to shut him up. He hovered at the edge of consciousness, vaguely aware of someone yelling to Sam in his own voice, and Dr. Vallens whimpering. He heard a gunshot, but at the same time, the room went dark, all the light bulbs in the room exploding. There was a second gunshot, but this one came from the doorway. Dean heard the shifter groan in pain, and a thud as his body hit the floor. Jack began to wail loudly from the couch, but Dean blacked out. 

***

“Are you sure about this?” Dean asked. He had woken up when Sam released him from his handcuffs. Sam had Jack strapped to his chest, in case Dean passed out from the concussion he had likely received. 

“What Buddy did was my fault,” Dr. Vallens replied solemnly. “I should’ve….” She shook her head. “You guys can go. I’ll take care of him.” Sam nodded at her, and she sighed. “You know, I just… I just wanted to help people.” 

“You did,” Dean said. Sam looked at him with confusion. Wasn’t Dean an avid hater of therapists? 

She smiled sadly. “Go.” 

Glancing at the blood splattered around the room, Sam didn’t need to be asked twice. 

***

Sam felt a nudge at his shoulder, and accepted the beer that Dean offered him. Jack was in the nursery for a nap. Sam pretended he hadn’t just heard Dean cooing to him through the baby monitor. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Listen, man, back at, uh, Mia’s… I was out of line.” Sam looked up from the book he was reading. “I’m sorry for being, uh… a dick lately.” 

“Thanks.” He wasn’t sure why Dean was apologizing, but he had bigger issues. He tried to return his attention to the volume in his lap about multiverses. 

Dean noticed his distressed mood, nagging big brother that he was. “What’s up?” 

“What if you’re right? About Mom?” He paused. “What if she is dead, and I’m just in denial?” 

It was a long moment before Dean responded. “Don’t say that.” 

That was not the answer Sam was expecting. “What?” The cogs in his brain whirred uselessly. “You’ve been wanting me to admit that since it happened.” 

“I know I have, but don’t say that.” Dean’s voice shook ever so slightly. “I need you to keep the faith. For both of us. Because right now, I…” he trailed off into silence. “Right now, I don’t believe in a damn thing.” 

It shouldn’t have, but the comment took Sam aback. The haunted look on Dean’s face was one he hadn’t seen in years. It reminded him of when his dad used to talk about their mom. 

***

Cas heard birds chirping, and grass beneath him. He rolled onto his back, and opened his eyes. The sun shone in his eyes so bright it hurt. He pushed himself to his feet, running his hand along the grass around him. It was real. It was real, and he was on Earth. He glanced down at himself, in the same vessel he’d died in. But he wasn’t on a lake shore in Washington, where he’s been stabbed. 

But that didn’t matter. He smiled, and turned his face to the sun. It warmed his skin, as if welcoming him home.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean was on a dock, a fishing pole in his hand and a warm breeze blowing ripples across the water. Vaguely, he knew he was dreaming, but he felt at peace anyway. 

“Hello Dean.” 

He turned. Standing on the dock behind him was Billie, wearing a black leather jacket and carrying a long scythe. This never happened in his dreams. 

“No,” Dean said, dropping the pole and standing, “I saw Cas kill you.” Panic rose in his throat. 

“How's that working out for him?” she quipped. 

Dean just glared at her. 

“It's funny to hear a Winchester talk about the finality of dying,” Billie continued, “This reality– it has rules, Dean. So many rules. And one of them? Kill one incarnation of Death, like you did, the next reaper to die takes his place. So, when Castiel stabbed me in the back, turns out, I got a promotion.” She lifted her hand, revealing Death’s white ring on her finger. “New job, new gear.” 

“So you died to become Death?” Dean asked. His brain could not have come up with this. But it couldn’t be real. 

“This universe can be so many things, and sometimes, it is poetic. That’s why we need to talk.” 

Without lifting so much as a finger, Billie changed the setting of the dream– or was it a dream anymore? Dean found himself in a library, so large he couldn’t see where the ‘W’ section ended on either side of them. 

“Welcome to my reading room.” She set the scythe down, far away from Dean. “Know not to leave this lying around near you, don’t we?” she said, her voice awfully flat for someone telling a joke. 

“So….” Dean didn’t like to think about what this meant. He was in Death’s library. “Am I dead?” 

“That depends on you,” Billie replied, crossing her arms. Dean did not like the sound of that. 

“Okay… well, congrats on the promotion, but I’ve got a kid waiting on me, so if it’s up to me–” 

“I didn’t say it was up to you.” Yeah, maybe humor wasn’t the best approach here. “I said it depends on you. Word on the interdimensional street is you’ve been slipping between worlds, Dean.” Dean grimaced as he recalled the portal. “I wanna know how you did it. Now.” 

“Well, I thought Death knew everything,” he replied. He was not going to be manhandled by the being who had caused him so much grief before. 

Well then you can imagine how this one little blind spot is really bothering me.” Billie’s voice was low and threatening. 

Dean wasn’t going to back down. “What’s in it for me?” 

“What do you want?” 

“I want you to bring Cas back.” The words were out of his mouth before he could even consider anything else. 

Billie scoffed. “The angel?” 

“He’s family.” 

“If that’s the case, then that’s one Winchester less on this planet.” Dean opened his mouth again, but Billie interrupted him. “However, should you boys find a way to bring him back, I will not take him back.” 

He faltered. “There’s a way to bring him back?” 

“No, but you Winchesters have a knack for doing the impossible.” 

He paused again before continuing. His end of the deal was the crappy end, but this was Billie. There was no point in bargaining with her. “How do I know I can trust you?” 

“You don’t.” Dean’s heart dropped. “But then again,” Billie continued, “I’m not the one breaking cosmic bargains left and right now, am I?” 

Dean chuckled, trying to keep his composure. “Yeah, it’s not like you to hold a grudge.” 

“Don’t I?” Billie replied. “So… spill.” 

“Jack,” Dean said. “He’s a nephilim. Lucifer’s. When he was born, it created a little rip.” 

“A little rip?” She seemed almost amused by Dean’s unfazed tone of voice.”Into another world? And you went there?” 

“Yeah,” Dean replied, not really wanting to dwell on that hellscape. “I’ll just say, it’s not Candy Land.” 

“I’ll bet.” 

“Why do you care?” 

“Because I do,” Billie said sharply, “Because this whole multi-versal quantum construct we live in, it’s like a house of cards. And the last thing I need is some big, dumb Winchester knocking it all down.” 

Dean smirked weakly. “That does sound like us.” 

Billie looked at him for a long moment before speaking again. “You want to know something interesting?” 

Dean really didn’t, not if it meant more cosmic bullshit to deal with. Billie continued anyway. 

“Every notebook on this shelf tells a version of how you die,” she said, gesturing at the shelves stacked so high that Dean couldn’t see the top. “You specifically– heart attack, burned by a red-haired witch, stabbed by a ghoul in a graveyard, impaled by a piece of rebar, and on and on.” She paused a moment, eyes drifting over the shelf. “But which one’s right?” She turned back to him. “That depends on you. On the choices you make.” She looked him over briefly. “Since I got this new job, I stand witness to a much larger picture. Do you know what I see?” She paused, as if waiting for Dean to answer, as if Dean could possibly know. “You. And your brother. You’re important.” 

Dean was taken aback. “Why?” 

“You have work to do. That’s all you need to know.” Dean didn’t like the sound of that. “And trust me, having my eyes opened to the necessity of any humans, especially Winchesters, is not a thrill.” 

They stood there for a long moment, staring each other down. Then a question popped into his mind. 

“Okay, I need to know. My mom–” 

He sat upright in bed. Damn Billie. Damn his slow brain, for asking too late to get an answer. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand, and groaned. Why did he always have to wake up at such ungodly hours of the morning. 

He stood from the bed, shrugged on his robe, and trudged to the kitchen. To his surprise, Sam was also awake, sitting in front of his laptop with a mug of coffee and Jack’s baby monitor on either side. 

“Morning,” Dean grumbled. Sam grunted in return, not looking up from whatever he was researching. He poured himself a mug of coffee and sat opposite his brother. They sat in silence for a few minutes while Dean’s brain whirred, trying to make sense of what had happened in his sleep. Sure, it may have been a dream, but he had no doubt that it nevertheless was real. 

“I saw Death last night,” Dean said bluntly. No reason to delay the conversation. “The Death.” 

Sam looked at Dean, then closed his laptop. “He’s dead.” 

“No,” Dean replied, grimacing, “She’s not. It’s Billie. I guess she got a new gig.” 

“What….” Sam trailed off, probably swamped with questions. “When exactly was this?” 

“She hijacked my dreams. I mean, she’s a reaper, reapers are angels, it makes sense.” 

“And you know this is real… how?” 

“Two reasons,” Dean replied, holding up two fingers. “One, because I could not make this crap up if I tried. And two, because it felt the same as….” His heart panged in his chest when he thought of the last visitor to his dreamscape fishing spot. 

“The same as what?” 

“The same as when Cas hijacked my dreams.” Despite the months that had passed since his death, it still hurt to talk about his friend. It stung just that much more knowing what Billie said, that there was no way to bring him back. 

Sam pressed his lips together, but didn’t press him about it further. “What did she want?” 

“She wanted intel,” Dean answered, glad to take his mind off his friend. “She said that we’re important, that we’ve got work to do.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” 

“I have no friggin clue.” He sipped at his coffee. 

After a long moment of silence, Sam spoke up. “You okay?” 

Dean debated lying, or brushing the question off, but he was done pretending, or maybe he was still tired and didn’t have the energy to put on a ‘just fine’ face. “No, Sam, I’m not okay. I’m pretty far from okay.” He inhaled deeply. “You know, my whole life, I always believed that what we do is important. No matter what the cost, no matter who we lost, whether it was Dad or Bobby or….” He swallowed thickly, his throat suddenly dry. “And I would take the hit. But I kept on fighting because I believed that we were making the world a better place. And now Mom and Cas….” Memories of that horrible night flashed through his mind. “And I don’t know. I don’t know.” 

“So now you don’t believe anymore.” Sam didn’t know how right he was. 

“I just need a win,” Dean said quietly, “I just need a damn win.” He was tired of losing. Losing friends, losing family, losing battles. 

The baby monitor crackled to life as Jack woke, making babbling noises that pulled at Dean’s heartstrings. Though he couldn’t quite eliminate his fear of the kid’s power, he found that he truly cared for Jack. Before Sam could react, Dean was up and making his way out of the kitchen. 

***

It had been a long week. 

Jack had turned six months old, which meant he was learning how to crawl. This on its own wouldn’t be so bad, but the kid also had superpowers, and was starting to become aware of it. When he got excited, toys would fly across the room, which excited him more, which caused more toys to fly, causing a hurricane of stuffed animals until the light bulbs in the room exploded. Dean had had to clean up the glass and change the lightbulbs in Jack’s room seven times that week. 

After the eighth hurricane and subsequent explosion, he’d thrown up his hands and put Sam on it. He needed a goddamn drink. Not to mention, the kid liked nothing better than to listen to Dean tell stories, and the only child-appropriate ones he could think of were fairy tales that he could barely remember and the stories about creation that Cas had told him on drunken nights in the lounge downstairs. So, yeah, he was tired and angry and missed his best friend like hell. 

Dean was driving home from the bar when he got the call. 

“Yeah?” he answered, his voice ragged. 

“Dean?” 

The world melted away. His vocal chords refused to work, he couldn’t answer. 

“Dean, is that you? Are you there?” 

“Cas?” he rasped. 

“Dean, I–” 

“Where are you?” 

“I… I’m outside a church, in Lebanon. The methodist church.” 

“I’m coming.” He hung up the phone. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw it. But still, he hoped. He wanted so badly for it to be true, for Cas to be back. 

The rest of the drive was a blur. He slowed when he reached the road in front of the church. There, by the payphone, was a figure in a beige trench coat, his back to the road. Dean parked the car in the middle of the road, not bothering to find a proper space at this hour. 

He exited the car, hands shaking. The figure turned around. 

Cas. 

It was Cas. 

For a long moment, they just stared at each other. 

“Cas, is that really you?” Dean asked shakily. 

Cas nodded mutely. 

“B-but you’re… you’re dead.” 

“Yeah. I was.” Dean’s heart pounded against his chest. “But then I… annoyed an ancient cosmic being so much that it sent me back.” If there hadn’t been a thousand different thoughts and emotions swirling through his head, Dean would have laughed. Instead he just stared at the angel standing in front of him. The streetlight above him caught in his hair, forming a halo across the crown of his head. 

Cas stepped toward Dean slowly, as though he weren’t sure if he were welcome back. Somewhere inside him, a levee broke. Tears suddenly welling in his eyes, he rushed forward and wrapped the angel in a hug that would have cracked his ribs if he were an ordinary human. He felt Cas sag against him as he wrapped his arms around the hunter in return. “Welcome home, pal.” He didn’t want to let him go. But he needed to get him home. Back to Sam. And Jack. He backed up, discreetly wiping away the tears that had dripped down his cheeks. 

“How long was I gone?” Cas asked, his gentle smile fading. 

“Too damn long,” Dean replied, his voice cracking a bit. He hoped that Cas hadn’t noticed. 

“I’m sorry,” the angel replied, his gaze shifting downward. 

“Don’t be. I… man, where were you? Heaven?” 

“No,” Cas answered, looking back up at Dean. “I was in the Empty.” 

“Really?” Dean wasn’t sure what the Empty was, but it didn’t sound good. 

“Apparently, it’s where angels and demons go when they die.” His eyes clouded over, haunted. “It’s pure nothing. Just dark and… nothing. And then I… I felt something, and I woke up.” His gaze focused on Dean again. “I thought that you… had done something.” 

“No,” Dean breathed, “I… we didn’t even think we could bring you back.” 

Cas looked at him in confusion. Dean had missed that face he made, with his eyes squinted and his head tilted to the side. 

“Was it Chuck?” Dean asked. 

“No, he has no power in the Empty,” Cas replied, still deep in thought. 

“Well, then, who does?” 

“I… I don’t know.” 

An idea struck Dean. “Maybe Jack?” 

Cas looked up sharply. “Jack?” 

“Yeah, I mean, the kid’s the only one with serious mojo that we’ve got in our corner. And I…” Dean looked down at his feet. “I talk to him about you. Sam, he does too.” 

Cas smiled softly. “What’s he like?” 

“Why don’t you come meet him?” Dean gestured to the car, and Cas got in, settling on the passenger’s seat. Dean turned the key in the ignition, and the engine roared to life. He turned on the radio, and a Led Zeppelin song wafted through the car. It was one of the songs on Cas’ mixtape. He turned to see Cas smiling at him. He quirked his lip upward in return, then put the car in drive. 

They spent the twenty minute drive to the bunker in comfortable silence. Dean glanced over at his friend in the passenger’s seat periodically, to remind himself that he was here, he was real. A few times he found Cas staring back at him, but mostly he just gazed out the window as the scenery went by. 

When Dean pulled the Impala into the parking space by the bunker’s entrance, Cas broke the silence. 

“So how long was I gone? Really?” 

“Six months yesterday,” Dean replied. Not that he’d been counting the days. 

Cas sighed. “I missed so much.” 

Dean shook his head, and laid a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “You were dead, man. It’s enough of a miracle that you’re back at all.” Cas looked up at him, and he smiled encouragingly. “Now, it’s time to meet your kid.” 

***

Dean led the way into the bunker, calling out to Sam as he entered. 

“Sammy!” he yelled, “I’ve got some big news!” 

Sam rushed out of the hallway, an irritated look on his face and a baby monitor in his hand. “Dean, you’re gonna wake up–” He froze when he saw Cas on the balcony. 

Cas smiled brightly. 

“It’s really him,” Dean said. Cas turned to see him grinning widely at Sam. 

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but the sound of crying coming from the monitor interrupted him. 

“I’ll get him,” Dean said, jogging down the stairs and tossing his car keys on the map table. Cas walked down the stairs slowly, and welcomed a hug from Sam when he reached the bottom. 

“It’s good to have you back, man,” Sam said, clapping a hand on his shoulder, “but how…?” 

“I’m not sure,” Cas said, “but I woke up in the Empty– the afterlife for angels and demons– and when I wouldn’t go back to sleep, it spat me out.” 

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Wow. And you woke up… how?” 

“That’s what we’re not sure about,” Cas replied, “but Dean seems to think that Jack did it.” 

As if on cue, Dean emerged from the hallway, carrying a rather disgruntled baby in his arms. The baby stared at Cas with big brown eyes. His heart seemed to melt in his chest. He had Kelly’s eyes. 

“Hey, Jack, this is Castiel,” Dean said, his voice soft. He gasped lightly as Jack reached toward Cas with one chubby arm. Cas felt as though his heart could burst. Hesitantly, not sure how the child would react, he stepped toward Dean and the baby, and smiled. To his surprise, Jack whined, leaning away from Dean as much as he could. 

“Do you want to hold him?” Cas nodded mutely. “Okay, just support his back so he doesn’t fall backwards.” Dean gently placed Jack in Cas’ arms, their shoulders brushing as he did so. Cas let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding as Jack smiled up at him. 

“Hello, Jack,” Cas murmured to the baby. Jack babbled in return and face planted into Cas’ shoulder, drooling on the lapel of his coat. 

Dean scoffed lightly, and Cas turned to see him smiling gently at the two of them. Cas hadn’t seen a look like that on Dean’s face since he’d watched him through the window of Lisa Braeden’s house. His heart skipped a beat when he thought of the implications of that. 

“We should get him back to bed,” Sam said, “It’s kind of late, usually he’s asleep by now.” 

“May I…?” Cas started, then trailed off. He’d been gone for so long. Did he have any right to play father to Jack just yet? 

“Yeah, let me show you to his room,” Dean replied, placing a hand on Cas’ back. Relief flooded through Cas. He’d hardly gotten back to Earth, and it seemed that he was still a part of the Winchesters lives, despite everything that had happened between them before his death. His heart dropped when he thought of that. 

When they were in the hallway, Sam out of earshot, Cas spoke. 

“Dean, I… before I….” He swallowed thickly. Despite how things had worked out, he couldn’t bring himself to say the word. “I made some mistakes, hid things from you, and I–” 

“Cas,” Dean interrupted, his voice soft but heavy with emotion, “I was the one in the wrong.” Cas glanced up at Dean. Remorse was written all over his face. It shocked Cas to see him showing this much outward emotion. “I should have had faith in you, but I just couldn’t believe that this kid could be anything but his father.” He stopped in front of a door that was once a guest bedroom, and fell silent for a moment. Cas waited for him to continue. “Now that he’s here, I… I see how wrong I was. He’s just a kid.” He chuckled. “A kid who blows up lightbulbs when he gets too upset, but a kid nonetheless.” 

Cas wet his lips before responding. “Still, I shouldn’t have run off like that, with Kelly.” 

Dean shrugged, and placed his hand on the doorknob. “I understand why you did it. I was being a dick.” 

“At the time, yes,” Cas conceded as Dean opened the door. 

He looked around the room and smiled. Pale, sky blue fabric had been pinned up against the walls, and the floor was covered in foam tiles with the letters of the alphabet on them. The bed was gone (Cas wondered briefly how they’d removed it), and in its place was the crib that Kelly had so painstakingly built. The desk in the corner had been converted into a changing table, and above it hung a mobile with various animals. There were bins full of stuffed animals and plastic toys lining the walls, and on a tiny shelf above the crib was a small lamp, a porcelain sculpture of an angel, and two tiny framed photographs that Cas couldn’t see from the doorway. In the corner was a recliner chair that he recognized as formerly residing in Dean’s movie room, alongside a short bookshelf that held various thin and brightly colored picture books, very much unlike the thick and ancient volumes in the library. 

“What do you think?” Dean asked quietly, “I know it’s not quite what you and Kelly prepared, but….” Cas’ heart panged in his chest when he thought of Kelly. They hadn’t expected her to survive the birth, but the confirmation hurt regardless. 

“It’s beautiful,” he answered truthfully. The room felt so normal, in stark contrast to the rest of the bunker, and the lives they lived. 

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Dean quipped, but he smiled at the compliment. “Most of it was Sam’s idea….” Cas wanted to argue against Dean’s self-depreciation, but Jack whined into his shoulder, so he carried him to the crib and set him down in the soft blankets. The baby yawned, and pressed his tiny fists to his eyes. Cas started when Dean flicked off the lights, but reached up and turned on the lamp on the shelf. The photographs caught his eye. One was a picture of Kelly; it was blurry, probably a screenshot of a video, but she was smiling lovingly. The other was of himself. He was looking out the window of a diner. The memory made him smile; they had been tracking a small nest of vampires near Boise, and he and Dean had been waiting for Sam to get back from the police station with the most recent reports. He hadn’t known that Dean had taken his picture. 

“The angel was Sam’s idea,” Dean said, interrupting Cas’ thoughts, “Kelly left a video message for Jack, and in it she told him that he had angels watching over him.” He smirked at Cas. “Seems like Kelly told it right.” 

Cas tilted his head. “But why the sculpture?”

Dean pressed his lips together before answering, turning his gaze to the shelf. “Well, you were gone. I would’ve gotten one with a little trench coat, but, uh, that’s a little bit too niche of a market.” He looked back at Cas. “And, when we were little, before the demon, we had one in the nursery. Our mom used to tell us that angels were watching over us too.” He smiled, a trace of bitterness on his face. “I don’t think she’d’ve guessed that most of them are dicks. Or that one really would….” 

Cas didn’t know how to respond, but thankfully, Jack whined for his attention again. He squirmed on the mattress of the crib, swinging his arms over his head. 

“He won’t go to sleep unless you sing to him,” Dean explained. 

Cas glanced at him, then back at Jack. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a singer,” he apologized to the baby. 

“Yeah, well, neither are me and Sam.” Cas watched as Dean walked out to the hallway. “I’ll let you put him to sleep,” he said as he gently shut the door behind him. 

“All right, Jack,” Cas murmured, “what would you like me to sing?” 

Jack gurgled in return, staring up at him sleepily. 

“I suppose you don’t care much what I sing.” He inhaled deeply, then began to sing, his voice raspy and hoarse. Jack didn’t seem to mind a bit. It was a song he’d heard on the radio not long before Jack had been born, on one of Kelly’s favorite stations. It wasn’t really a lullaby, but he figured if he sang it slow and quiet, it would work well enough. He wondered what Dean sounded like when he sang to Jack; he’d only ever heard him singing raucously to the radio in the Impala, volume blasting so loud Cas wanted to warn him about the risk of rupturing an eardrum. 

“I want to run, I want to hide  
I want to tear down the walls that hold me inside  
I want to reach out, and touch the flame,  
Where the streets have no name. 

I want to feel sunlight on my face  
I see the dust clouds disappear without a trace  
I want to take shelter from the poison rain  
Where the streets have no name.” 

***

Dean paused by the door, listening as Cas sang to Jack. His voice was gravelly and just a bit out of tune, but it was loving and gentle. He would have stayed there until Cas stopped singing, but he didn’t want to embarrass him when he came out and realized Dean had heard the whole thing. Not that the angel had never heard Dean sing, but, well, that had been a different setting. Singing quietly to the son you just met was a lot more personal than belting along to the radio. 

He walked back out into the library, smiling to himself. Sam was in the library, laptop open in front of him. The baby monitor was sitting to the side, the volume off. He glanced up at Dean and laughed quietly. 

“What?” Dean asked, sliding into a chair across from him. 

“Nothing. Just… good to see you smiling again.” 

“‘Course I’m smiling, I’ve got someone other than you to hang out with now.” 

“Jerk.” 

“Bitch.” 

“You shouldn’t insult your brother, Dean.” 

Dean turned to see Cas entering the library with that squinty-eyed look on his face, and grinned. “Ah, he’s used to it. Besides, it’s kind of an inside joke.” 

Cas opened his mouth, shut it again, then spoke. “I wasn’t aware there was such a thing as an outside joke.” 

“It’s an idiom, Cas, there’s no such thing as an outside joke.” 

“Oh.” The angel sat himself in the chair next to Dean and let out a breath. 

“So… how are you?” Sam asked. Of course he was concerned about Cas’ feelings. Although Dean admitted he had been wanting to ask the same thing. 

“I’m… confused, but… grateful,” Cas said slowly. “I guess I just keep waiting for something bad to happen.” 

“Hey, we’ve outrun cosmic consequences before,” Dean interjected, “and as cautious as I usually am with the whole defying the natural order thing, I’m really not planning on looking a gift horse in the mouth this time around.” 

“Dean, since when have we ever left things to natural order?” Sam asked exasperatedly. 

“And I distinctly remember you being decidedly adverse to my disruption of the cosmic order when I broke your deal with Billie,” Cas added. 

Dean grimaced. “Actually, about that….” 

“Why don’t we start from the beginning,” Sam interrupted, “Cas has been gone six months, that’s quite a while.” 

“Right, right.” Dean shifted in his chair so that he could face Cas. “Um….” He thought back to that night. How his mom had been pulled through the portal with Lucifer, how he’d carried Cas’ body into the house and wrapped it in yellow curtains. 

“I sense that my… death… was not the only loss you’ve had to deal with,” Cas said softly. 

“No,” Sam replied, “when Lucifer… came through the portal, Mom… she fought him off, but he pulled her through with him.” 

Cas nodded solemnly, then frowned. “So she’s not dead?” 

Sam glanced up at Dean before answering. “We don’t know for sure.” 

“Well,” he sighed, “if anyone can survive an apocalyptic world like that, it’s a Winchester.” 

Dean nodded, more than ready to move away from this subject. He knew that Sam hadn’t stopped researching multiverse theories and spellwork, still looking for a way to get their mom back. Maybe he’d offer to help. The chance that Mom had survived was extremely slim, but if Cas had come back, then surely she had a chance. They hadn’t even seen her die, hadn’t burned her body. She had a chance. 

“Anyway,” Dean continued, “after that, we packed up some things from the house and brought Jack here. It’s not as kid friendly, but it’s safer here.” 

Sam coughed. “You forgot the whole motel incident.” 

Cas looked at Dean with alarm. “What did you do?” 

“I didn’t do shit!” Dean said defensively, “I– Sam, you tell it, you’re the one who gave Jack to fake Donatello.” 

Sam glared at Dean. “A demon posed as Donatello, and kidnapped Jack,” he admitted. “But, I mean, he’s fine now, and whatever it was he was trying to release from the pit didn’t make it topside, so….” 

“A shapeshifting demon?” Cas asked, surprisingly unconcerned with the fact that the Winchesters had been ignorant enough to let Jack get kidnapped within the first week of caring for him. 

“Asmodeus, the prince of Hell,” Dean clarified. 

Cas turned to Sam, shock and anger written all over his face. “You gave Jack to Asmodeus?” 

“I– I thought it was Donatello!” Sam retorted defensively, “He got past the warding and everything!” Cas leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. “And besides, you saw Jack, he’s fine now.” 

“And you killed Asmodeus?” Cas asked. 

“Ah, no,” Dean replied, “haven’t seen hide nor hair of him since.” 

“I’m gone for just a few months, and you’ve already got another powerful enemy. Why I even bother….” 

“Hey, you know us, always picking fights with the big guys. Speaking of, uh…” he pressed his lips together, not sure how best to continue. “You, uh, you know how you killed Billie?” 

Cas narrowed his eyes at Dean. “Dean, I am not going through this fight again. I will not apologize for saving you.” 

“I–” Dean was taken aback by the harshness in Cas’ voice, and how he had claimed to have saved him specifically. Had he really been that hard on him? He knew he could be an asshole, but he thought they’d put that behind them. Maybe he should apologize later, when he could think it through and find the words. “N-no, that’s not… Billie was the first reaper to die since I took out Death. Or, rather, the previous Death.” Cas gave him a blank look. “Billie is now Death. The Death.” 

Cas swallowed. Dean wondered if he actually needed to, or if that was just a human gesture he’d picked up. “And you found this out how, exactly?” He gave Dean a pointed look. 

“I didn’t have any near death experiences, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dean replied defensively. “She busted into my head while I was asleep. Wanted to know about the portal. She said that Sam and I were important, that we have work to do.” 

Cas frowned. “I don’t like the sound of that.” 

“Neither do I.” Dean glanced at Sam, who was typing something into his computer. “Sam, you got a case?” 

Sam sighed, and closed the laptop. “No, nothing. Things are quiet, at least at the moment. Quiet enough that I think I’m gonna turn in for the night.” He stood from the table and nodded to Cas. “Good to have you back, man.” Cas nodded to him in return before he left the room, baby monitor in hand. Dean could have sworn it was his turn with the monitor tonight, but he wasn't going to complain if his brother wanted to be woken up at four in the morning. 

Dean stood. “I’m gonna get a beer, you want one?” 

“No,” Cas replied, “but I’ll join you in the kitchen, if that’s alright.” 

“More than alright, man,” Dean replied, leading the way down the hall, “I really missed you. We all did,” he added as an afterthought. 

When they reached the kitchen, Dean pulled open the fridge and Cas sat at the table. Despite him saying that he didn’t really want one, he grabbed a bottle for Cas, setting it gently in front of him as he sat down. Cas didn’t take it, but that didn’t matter. 

“How has Jack been?” Cas asked as Dean took the first sip of his beer. 

He cocked one side of his mouth upwards in a smile, swallowing before answering. “The kid is a menace. He’s just discovered that he has powers, but has no idea how to control them.” Cas frowned. “I mean, the kid will get excited, and when that happens, he’ll make a stuffed animal or whatever fly around, which gets him even more excited, and then it’s hurricane Jack.” He chuckled. “This is, until he blows the light bulbs out in his room. We had to change them seven– no, eight times this week.” Cas scoffed quietly, looking down at the table. “But other than that, the kid is normal. Just starting to crawl around, which means we’re really going to have to babyproof soon. That’s going to be a nightmare in and of itself. And it does no good if it turns out the little dude can fly.” He pushed the thought out of his mind; tonight was for celebrating Cas’ return. Parenting could wait until the morning. Or, at least, until Jack woke up again. 

“You think of yourself as his father, don’t you?” Cas was looking at him softly, the same look he’d given Dean when they were looking for Claire, when he’d called Dean a role model. 

Dean looked away and took a swig of his beer before answering. “If you’re asking if I care about the little guy, yeah. I do.” He looked back up at Cas. “Guess that would make the three of us his dads.” 

Cas grinned. “Three fathers is quite a few.” 

“Yeah.” He grinned, and took another sip of his beer. “Poor kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Cas sings to Jack is Where The Streets Have No Name by U2


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rewrite of episode 13x06, Tombstone.

Cas was thumbing through a volume in the library when Sam walked in, baby monitor in hand. 

“Morning,” he greeted as he sat in front of his laptop and opened it, “What are you reading?” 

“A volume on nephilim,” Cas replied, “but the majority of the information in here is incorrect.” He shut the book and leaned back in his chair. 

Sam nodded. “Yeah, a lot of the stuff we have on nephilim is either wrong, incomplete, or written in dead languages.” Cas replaced the book on the shelf as Sam scrolled through his news feeds in search of a case. 

“Already up and at it, huh?” Cas turned in his chair to see Dean walking into the library, wearing his robe and carrying a mug of coffee in his hand. He frowned as he sat at the table. “Jack’s not up?” 

“No,” Sam replied, “and don’t wake him, I could get used to him sleeping in later than four in the morning.” 

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Dean leaned back and took a loud sip of coffee. “Found anything?” 

“Maybe,” Sam replied. 

“Well, let’s hear it.” 

“Alright, so, three days ago, a vintage pocket watch with a personalized inscription was sold at auction, but when they went to authenticate it, they discovered that it had been buried with its original owner, who had died twenty years previously. When they checked the grave, it was empty.” Sam grimaced. “Now that I’m reading it out loud, it sounds like regular old grave robbery.” 

“Where was this?” Cas asked. 

“Dodge City, Kansas.” 

Dean froze, pressed his lips together, and looked at the both of them before speaking. “We should probably check it out, just to be safe. I mean, we’ve done more on less.” Cas and Sam looked at him with confusion. “Besides, Dodge City’s kind of, uh, kind of awesome.” Oh. So that’s what that was about. 

“Who’s staying behind with Jack?” Cas asked hesitantly. Though he wanted to spend time with Jack, he didn’t like the idea of missing out on a hunt with the brothers when he had only just gotten back. 

“We’ll take him with us,” Dean declared. “Might as well get the kid out of the bunker for a bit. Besides, it’s not so far of a drive.” 

Cas was skeptical about bringing a baby on a hunt, but Sam was not shocked by Dean’s suggestion, so he figured it would be alright. “As long as you let me do the warding. Your Enochian is atrocious.” 

Dean wet his lips, too distracted by the idea of Dodge City to process the insult, then stood and began to make his way down the hall, towards the weapons room. Before he left the room, he turned and smiled at Sam and Cas. “Two salty hunters, one half-angel baby, and one dude who just came back from the dead. Again. Team Free Will 2.0!” He clapped his hands together. “Here we go!” 

Sam looked at Cas questioningly, but Cas just shrugged in return. Which movie was it that was set in Dodge City? The movie nights that he and Dean had had, sitting in recliners and squinting at a laptop screen with yet another western with a far-too-similar-to-the-last-movie plot had all blurred together. 

Still, Dean seemed very excited about it, and given what had gone down since Cas’ death, he figured it would be good to do something fun. 

***

The Stampede Motel? Good god. Sam knew about Dean’s affinity for westerns and cowboy-related things, but come on. This was a tourist trap if he ever saw one. 

“Alright, this is supposed to be the best room in the joint,” Dean declared as they carried their luggage and a sleeping Jack in his carrier down the hall. 

Dean opened the door to the most atrocious motel room Sam could ever remember them staying in. There were honest-to-Chuck saloon doors sectioning off the living area from the beds, cutouts of cowboys on the walls, bulls horns, and old timey photographs of various famous outlaws. There was even a stuffed bison head. 

“Oh ho!” Dean chuckled loudly, “the Wild Bill suite.” If Sam hadn’t been taken so aback by the room, he might have appreciated Dean’s wide grin a bit more. 

“Wow,” he said simply. 

“Pretty cool, right?” Dean said, examining the photographs on the wall while Cas set Jack’s carrier on the couch. “Dude! Check it out–” he pointed at one of the photographs “–Clay Allison, gun fighter extraordinaire, right? And, uh, Curly Bill Brocius–” he pointed at another photograph “–now, little fun fact here, he was killed by–” he pointed to yet another photograph “–Wyatt Earp himself.” He turned to Sam and grinned childishly. “Not kidding.” Sam could only stare as Dean walked along the wall, listing names and pointing. 

“He really likes cowboys,” Sam mumbled, mostly to himself. 

“Yes,” Cas grumbled. Sam turned to see him watching Dean with an exasperated expression on his face, the closest thing to a bitchface that Sam had ever seen on the angel, “yes he does.” How the hell did Cas know about that? He thought of a few choice files he’d had to delete from his laptop, and hoped Cas didn’t know the full extent of Dean’s obsession. 

“Doc Holliday! Hey-oh!” Dean yelled across the room. Jack stirred and whined in his carrier, woken from his driving-induced nap. Dean didn’t seem to notice, but Cas bent down to pick up Jack before he could start crying again. “All right, I say quick shower, steak dinner, and then tomorrow, we hit up the cemetery.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Sam replied as Dean strode past him, through the saloon doors. He followed, figuring Cas could deal with Jack for the time being. He decided to ignore Dean’s ramblings about the rest of the decor in the room as he unpacked his clothes and hung them on the god-awful stirrup hangers in the wardrobe. 

When Dean finally quieted down and got to unpacking his own clothes, he turned to his older brother. “Still can’t believe you brought your own hat,” he teased. 

“I can’t believe you didn’t,” Dean shot back, and chuckled. 

“You’re in a good mood, huh?” 

“Yeah, and?” 

“Nothing.” Sam couldn’t say he felt exactly the same. Yes, Cas was back, and that was great, but it made him think of his mom, trapped in that other world. If Jack could bring Cas back from the Empty, could bring her back too? “I just mean, you’ve been having a rough go, so it’s… it’s good to see you smile.” He smiled tersely at his older brother, hoping that his internal turmoil wasn’t showing. They needed a moment to just sit back and be happy that Cas was back. 

“Well, I said I needed a big win,” Dean replied, shrugging. “We got Cas back.” He smiled. “That’s a pretty damn big win.” 

“Yeah,” Sam said, sighing. “Fair enough.” He tried to will himself to just be happy, just for now, for Cas and for his brother. But somehow, Cas’ return only seemed to highlight his mom’s absence. 

***

Cas strolled around the room, gently rocking Jack in his arms. He knew that he could just lay him in the packable crib that Dean had set up in the corner, but he didn’t need to sleep and his arms did not get tired, so it was no detriment to him. 

The laptop on the coffee table chimed, so he walked over to the kitchen table so he could check the alert. A ‘code three,’ whatever that meant. 

A beam of sunlight snaked its way into the room and landed on Jack’s face. He whimpered, and Cas tried to rock him back to sleep, but it was too late, he had already started crying. 

“Shh,” Cas whispered, bouncing the baby in his arms, “shh, you’re alright, please don’t cry.” He heard the two Winchesters groaning on the other side of the saloon doors. 

“He’s probably hungry,” he heard Dean call out, his voice ragged with sleep. 

Cas made his way to the refrigerator, still shushing Jack. He pulled out a bottle of formula, and offered it to Jack, but he was inconsolable. 

“Here,” Sam said, taking the bottle. Cas hadn’t heard him enter the room. “You gotta warm it up.” He stuck the bottle in the microwave, and they waited impatiently for the bottle to heat up. Cas watched as Sam tested the temperature by squirting a few drops onto the inside of his wrist, then handed it to Cas. 

“Thank you.” This time, Jack took the bottle, and grunted happily as he sucked at the rubber top. Sam walked over to the table and sat in front of his laptop, then frowned. 

“‘Code three…’” he mumbled, “Okay, so that means an officer down.” Dean walked through the saloon doors, his face blank with sleep, and trudged to the coffee machine. He hummed happily when he saw that Cas had already brewed the coffee. 

“Looks like the victim was covered in bite marks,” Sam continued. Dean grunted and sat on the couch, his shoulders hunched as though he were wrapping his entire body around his coffee mug. Jack whined, signaling that he was done eating, and Cas set the bottle on the table and took a pacifier from his pocket. “I guess I’ll take Jack and check out the cemetery so you and Cas can hit up the crime scene.” He closed his laptop with a thud, and took Jack into the bedroom to get dressed. 

“Works for me,” Dean mumbled. Cas wondered if he was really processing any of this. He stood as well, ready to leave, but Dean held up a hand to stop him and pointed at his coffee mug. Cas sighed, rolled his eyes, and sat back down. 

Cas waited for him to finish his coffee, and then to get dressed, nodding to Sam as he left with Jack. 

When Dean reemerged, Cas scoffed quietly. He was wearing his fed suit, but instead of a regular tie, he wore a ribbon with a brooch. On his head was a cowboy hat, and Cas realized that he was wearing cowboy boots. Cas had to admit, it was a pretty good look on him. In his hand was another cowboy hat, this one of notably lower quality. 

“Really, Dean?” 

“Humor me,” Dean replied, holding out the hat. 

Cas sighed, but put it on anyway. Dean grinned at him, and led the way out to the parking lot. Though Cas wanted to be irritated at Dean for his antics, he found it somewhat endearing. With everything going on, it wasn’t so hard to just wear a hat for him. Even if it was a terrible hat. They listened to the radio in companionable silence until Dean pulled up to the crime scene. 

“All right, listen,” he said, cutting the engine, “these Dodge City cops aren’t likely to trust big city folks, so we’re gonna have to blend.” Cas could have laughed out loud. 

“Which is why you’re making me wear this absurd hat,” Cas quipped. 

“It’s not that bad,” Dean replied defensively, but he frowned. “Well, actually, yeah, it kind of is. Hang on.” Cas’ heart fluttered as Dean reached up and tugged the cheap red ribbon from his hat, and tossed it in the back seat. “All right, that’s better.” 

“Is it?” Cas asked dubiously, checking his reflection in the rearview mirror. He did not think the locals would overlook the cheap quality of the hat, nor the fact that it didn’t exactly match the rest of his outfit. 

“Yeah,” Dean replied, adjusting the brooch at his neck, “look, just act like you’re from ‘Tombstone,’ okay?” 

“The city?” 

Dean glanced at him incredulously. “The movie. With Kurt Russell? I made you watch it.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Cas sighed. Dean and his westerns. Thankfully he remembered which one Tombstone was. “The one with the guns and tuberculosis.” He lowered his voice in an imitation of the actor from the movie. “‘I’m your Huckleberry.’” 

Dean looked away, biting his lip. “Yeah, exactly.” 

Wait, what was that look? But no, Cas wouldn’t read into it. 

“Well,” Dean said, “it’s good to have you back, Cas.” The last word came out a breath, and it made Cas’ heart stutter. “All right, follow my lead.” He smirked briefly, reaching for the door handle. “We’ll fit right in.” 

They walked (Dean was almost strutting) towards the officer at the edge of the crime scene, and Cas had to admit, the hat did make him feel a little bit cooler. 

“Howdy, partner,” Dean greeted the cop, “Who’s in charge here?” 

The cop shook his head and pointed to another cop leaning against a cop car. 

“Much obliged,” Cas replied, tipping his hat. 

“Sheriff Phillips?” 

The man stood and shook Dean’s hand. “It’s Sarge,” he replied in a deep, gravelly voice. “Sergeant Joe Phillips. Sheriff’s on vacation.” 

“Well, I’m Agent Russell,” Dean replied. “This here is my associate.” He looked over at Cas, signaling to make up a name for himself. Going with a theme of westerns, huh? 

“Kilmer,” Cas said, “My name is Val Kilmer.” Maybe that was a little too obvious, because the sergeant gave him an odd look. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said after a long moment, “what do you want?” 

“Well, we heard about the attack over the wire last night,” Dean explained. “Wondering what you can tell us about the victim.” 

“His name was Carl Phillips. Deputy Carl Phillips. He’s… was my nephew. Some… psycho slit his throat and left the body for the coyotes to chew on.” He paused for a long moment. “I knew that boy since he was a day old.” 

“We’re deeply sorry for your loss,” Cas offered. He hadn’t even known Jack that long, yet he could imagine the sort of loss and anger he’d feel if something were to happen to him. 

The Sarge cleared his throat. “Anyway, what the hell’s the Texas Rangers even doing up here?” 

Rangers? No they were FBI. “Well, actually–” 

“Rangers,” Dean interrupted. “That’s right.” Cas looked over at Dean, confused, but Dean looked positively excited to be playing this role. Whatever. “We’ve been tracking a fugitive who skipped across state lines. He’s a real mean son of a gun.” Cas could’ve sworn that Dean was pulling these lines directly from a movie. “He’s been robbing graves,” he added. 

“Oh, we got us one of them,” Sarge replied. “Carl was the one looking in on it.” Cas glanced at Dean. “You think there’s a connection?” 

“Could be.” Dean nodded. 

“Well,” Sarge said, “you boys are more than welcome to poke around, but… I catch up with your runner first, there ain’t gonna be much left of him to take back to Texas.” Cas was slightly alarmed at the casual air with which he admitted his intent to murder, but he supposed he understood. “You can count on it.” 

***

Sam made his way down the stairs to the morgue in the basement of the funeral home. A pretty woman wearing a black mask and apron and bright red headphones was working with some unidentifiable pink liquid. He glanced around briefly, while her attention was occupied. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary; there was a desk in the corner with a few pictures of the woman and a weather-worn man who looked like he came straight out of one of Dean’s cowboy movies, and a great deal of messy paperwork, but nothing incriminating. He waved to get her attention, and she turned around with a start. 

“Dude, what the hell?” She exclaimed, removing the headphones and mask. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Sam stuttered, “I– I didn’t mean to scare you, I, uh, there was no one upstairs.” 

“Yeah, it’s just me,” she replied, setting the headphones on a metal table. 

“And you are…” 

“Athena Lopez, undertaker,” she replied, irritation plain in her voice. “And you are?” 

“Agent Elliot,” he replied, taking his FBI badge from his inside pocket, “I’m here about the grave robbery. Uh, you live on the premises, right?” 

She shrugged. “All my life.” 

“But,” he continued, “according to the police report, you didn’t see anyone that night.” 

“I was out,” she replied, “Amanda Palmer concert.” 

“Amanda Palmer?” 

“Yeah.” She turned back to the pink liquid, and began to put her mask back on. “Look, if you want to check out the grave, the cops have it roped off, over on the west plot.”

“Great,” Sam replied, “thanks. Again, sorry.” She shrugged and put her headphones back on as Sam left. He went back to the car, where he had left Jack sleeping in the back seat. He knew that if Dean and Cas found out about that, they’d be beyond pissed, but he couldn’t just bring a baby into a morgue. Besides, he’d left the air conditioning on, and he was asleep. 

Trying not to wake Jack, he quietly opened the door of the rental car and pulled out the folded stroller from the floor of the back seat. He unfolded it, unbuckled Jack’s car seat, and transferred it to the stroller. He hoped that no one would pay too much attention to the fed at a crime scene with an infant in tow. 

When he reached the grave, he put the parking brake on the stroller and walked over to the casket that had been removed from the grave. He opened it, and found that there was a large hole in the head-end of the coffin. The police report had said rats, but this was definitely too much to be the work of rats. 

He sighed. “Here goes nothin’,” he muttered to Jack, who was still asleep but starting to stir. He hopped down into the grave, his knees creaking in protest. He definitely wasn’t in his twenties anymore. At the head end of the grave, the dirt looked looser, disturbed. Sam dug into the dirt, and discovered the beginning of a tunnel. He rooted around in the soft dirt, until he felt something hard. It was a bone; a scapula, with various teeth marks scratched along the edges. He sighed. So it was a ghoul. 

He wiped off as much of the dirt as he could, scrambled out of the grave, and tucked it into his jacket pocket. Jack stared at the clouds above them as Sam pushed him back to the car. 

“You know, in theory, you should be able to fly up there,” he said to Jack. Jack gurgled happily around his pacifier in return. 

He was quiet for most of the drive back to the motel, but began to whine as Sam pulled into the parking lot. When he got back to the room, Sam opened a box of cereal, dumped a handful of it onto the tabletop and sat Jack on the table, watching to make sure he didn’t crawl off while he prepped a bottle. Jack crunched happily with his two teeth, wobbling a little as he sat upright. When the bottle was ready, Sam took Jack onto his lap and held him while he ate. He took the bone out of his pocket and set it on the table so Jack could lean more comfortably against him. 

A few minutes later, Dean and Cas returned. Sam scoffed at the two of them; Cas was in a cheap cowboy hat that clashed with this whole boring accountant look, and Dean was in full on cowboy mode with the boots and everything. He had his hand on Cas’ shoulder as they entered. 

“Find anything?” Dean asked, dropping his hand from Cas’ shoulder. 

“I talked to the undertaker, Athena Lopez, but she claims that she was gone the night of the robbery. However,” Sam tossed the chewed shoulder bone to Dean, “I found this in the grave. Looks like a ghoul.” Dean inspected the bone as he collapsed on the couch. He passed it to Cas when he sat down next to him. 

“So we’re looking for a shapeshifter,” Dean commented, “Great.” 

“Yeah, it could be anyone, he’s got tunnels all over that graveyard.” Jack finished his bottle, so Sam sat him back up on the table to root around for pieces of cereal. 

Dean groaned, and stood from the couch. “Man, I am getting real tired of fighting things that look like other things.” 

“Maybe the ghoul is this Athena,” Cas suggested as Dean made his way into the bedroom area. 

“Yeah,” Sam agreed, “A ghoul who owns a mortuary. That’s smart, but….” 

“No,” Dean called from behind the saloon doors, “She’s got access to the bodies before they’re ever in the ground. Anything she wants, she would just take, she doesn’t have to dig them back up.” 

“Right,” Sam sighed, handing a piece of cereal to Jack. He babbled incoherently, and shoved it into his mouth. He thought for a moment, then grabbed his laptop from the coffee table. Dean reemerged while Sam was tapping away, no longer in his suit and cowboy accessories, and stalked across the room to grab a beer from the fridge. 

“Alright, I think I got something,” Sam announced. He should have thought of this sooner, but Jack took up a lot of space in his mind. “I tracked the plates of the stolen truck, went through the traffic cams in town, found some footage of yesterday.” 

Dean sat next to him at the table and frowned at the photograph on the screen. “Who’s driving?” he asked, and tapped at some keys before getting an answer. Jack watched with rapt attention, drooling all over his crumb-crusted fingers. 

“Holy crap,” Dean breathed, his face going slack with recognition. He smiled. “That’s Dave Mather.” 

“Who?” Sam and Cas asked in unison. Oh god. Not another cowboy. 

“Dave Mather,” Dean repeated, “Cowboy, outlaw, one of the Dodge City gang.” He walked over to the wall of photographs and pulled one off the wall, then passed it to Cas. “He was one of the greatest gunfighters ever.” Cas squinted at the photograph, as though committing the face to memory. “I mean,” Dean continued, “he died in 1886, which makes this a little weird, but….” He laughed to himself. “Mysterious Dave Mather. I’m gonna put my boots back on.” He turned and walked back through the saloon doors. 

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean’s obsession knew no bounds. He came back out a few moments later, his eyes bright with excitement. 

“So our ghoul ate some Old West gunfighter and stole his face?” he said, as though he couldn’t believe his luck. He handed Sam a shotgun, chuckling to himself. 

“Actually,” Sam said, looking at the photograph that Dean had set on the table next to Jack, “he looks just like some guy in one of the pictures at the mortuary. Athena’s boyfriend, I think.” 

Dean clapped his hands together. “Aw, man, this is getting good.” 

***

The Impala rumbled as Dean pulled up to the funeral home. He and Sam got out, leaving Cas in the backseat to watch Jack. He was fussing, probably sick of being strapped into his carrier for the majority of the day. 

“So,” Sam said, “what do we tell Athena?” 

“Well, we keep it simple,” Dean replied sarcastically, “tell her the guy she’s banging eats dead people, and we’re here to kill him. Or we could lie.” 

“Definitely lie.” 

The two brothers made their way to the lab in the basement. 

“Athena?” Sam called out. 

“What the hell are you doing in my house? Again?” came a voice from behind them. The two of them whirled around to see the undertaker, who looked rather pretty in her white button-up and red lipstick. 

“Look,” Sam replied, obviously having not thought through what he would say to lie, “we’re–” 

“I know who you are,” Athena retorted irritably. “Answer the question.” 

“Okay, my– my associate and I, we’re looking for your boyfriend.” 

“Why?” She frowned. “Is this about the grave robbery?” 

“And a murder,” Dean added. No use in dancing around it too much. 

“A what?” She recoiled from Dean in shock. 

“Sheriff’s deputy was killed last night,” Dean explained. 

“We just want to talk to him,” Sam assured her. “That’s all. So, do you know where he is?” 

“He said he had to go to the bank,” she replied. 

Oh boy. Dave Mather, famous outlaw, headed to the bank. That could only mean one thing. 

The brothers thanked Athena, and left. When they got back to the car, Sam quickly explained what they’d found out to Cas. Dean sped in the direction of the bank, maybe a little faster than he should have, but there was a criminal and murderer on the loose. 

Dean parked the Impala around the corner, so that he wouldn’t have to worry about his baby getting caught in any crossfire. 

“Alright, you stay with Jack,” he said to Cas. 

“Dean–” 

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry. You’re just around the corner, we’ll holler if something goes wrong. Not like we can leave Jack alone in the car.” He looked over at Sam. He ignored the flash of guilt that passed over his face, and grabbed his shotgun and made his way toward the bank. 

Dean waited out front of the bank while Sam moved around to the side. A man with a black cowboy hat and a red bandana over his face exited the bank, a black duffel bag in hand. 

“Dave Mather,” he called out, cocking his shotgun and resting it on his hip to aim. If he was going to face an Old West outlaw, he might as well do it Old West style. “Robbing a bank. That’s a bold move.” 

Mather swaggered toward Dean, pulling the bandana down to reveal the rest of his face. For a moment, they stared each other down. 

“You must be the hunter,” Mathers commented, pointing to Dean. He seemed completely unfazed by the shotgun. Which made sense, since ghouls could only be killed by a clean headshot. 

“And you must like to play cowboy,” Dean retorted. Not that he could blame him. 

“It’s my favorite suit,” the ghoul replied, licking his lips hungrily. “You know, I like to keep a little piece of old Dave on me just to gnaw on.” Dean grimaced. 

A gun cocked to Dean’s right. Sam was carrying another shotgun, which was also trained on Mather. 

He simply laughed. “Let’s make it two hunters!” he cried out. “Whoo! Must be my birthday!” 

“Look,” Sam said, “why don’t you come with us someplace else? We can do this quick and quiet.” Dean knew that he wouldn’t go for that, but he supposed it was worth a shot. 

In a split second, Mather pulled out a revolver, but Sam and Dean were too quick; both brothers shot at the ghoul, and he fell back against a minivan as a slug hit him in the shoulder. However, he was mostly unharmed, and ran around the car, firing his pistol as Sam and Dean ducked behind a crappy old Honda. It was a real shootout, no movie magic involved, and it was decidedly less fun than in the westerns Dean enjoyed so much. Sam and Dean took turns firing at Mather over the top of the car, glass shattering as Dave shot out the windows. They heard him whoop excitedly as he fired off multiple rounds in a row. Dean went to shoot again, but the gun just clicked with a hollow noise. He glanced at Sam, but his brother shook his head. 

He heard Mather laugh as he ran away, duffel bag over his shoulder. Dean had forgotten to grab any spare ammunition. Damn. He wanted to run after the outlaw, but it would be no use without a reload. 

“Damn it!” he yelled. 

Sam sighed. “Hey, at least we know where he’s going.” 

“Where?” Dean didn’t bother to keep the snap out of his tone. 

“Back to Athena’s,” Sam explained. “She’s his girlfriend, he’s bound to head back to her place.” 

Dean nodded. Sam was right. “Okay, let’s go.” 

***

Things were not good back at the Impala. Jack was wailing in Cas’ arms. The angel looked up at the brothers in fear as they sat in the front seats. 

“Sam, Dean,” he said urgently, “he’s hot. Really hot. I don’t… I think it’s a fever.” 

Dean swore under his breath. “Someone has to stay here and deal with this ghoul,” he muttered. He turned to Sam. “I’ll drop you both at the motel room. I packed some baby aspirin in Jack’s duffel, and there’s an ice machine down the hall. I’ll head back to the cemetery.” 

“Dean, I can help–” 

“It’s better if you’re with Jack. You have healing powers, you can figure out what’s the matter with him when he calms down.” Cas sighed, but didn’t argue. 

Sam just nodded. Would Jack respond the same to baby aspirin? He was part archangel, after all. Dean started the engine, and they raced back to the motel, the radio squealing due to Jack’s distressed energy. 

As soon as Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot, Sam and Cas jumped out. Cas cradled the baby against his chest, which seemed to calm Jack a little, since no light bulbs exploded, but he still screamed in agony. Sam grabbed a tub for ice while Cas sat on the couch, pressing two fingers to Jack’s forehead like he usually did when healing. When he returned, Jack was still crying. 

“His fever won’t go down,” Cas said, his voice full of worry. “I can’t… I can’t figure out what’s wrong.” 

Sam set the ice bucket down next to Cas, and pulled Jack’s bag from underneath the coffee table, digging around for the aspirin. His heart pounded in his chest. 

“Sam!” He looked up at Cas, his own fear mirrored on Cas’ face. “We need to take him to the hospital.” 

“B-but he’s not human.” Sam’s brain felt like a blender full of cotton. 

“He’s part human. The doctors may be able to help.” Cas sighed. “And… If necessary, I can go to Heaven’s gate. See if any of the other angels will help me.” 

“Cas–” 

“Only if it’s absolutely necessary.” 

Sam sighed. “Fine. But we’re taking him back to Lebanon. If we’re going to take him to a doctor, we might as well keep close to the bunker.” 

Cas nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.” 

They grabbed their baggage, but decided not to bother with the crib. They needed to get out of there fast. As they headed out to the parking lot, Sam swore. 

“Dean has Jack’s car seat,” Sam groaned. 

“I’m an angel. I think I can keep him in one piece on the off chance that we crash.” 

“Good point.” 

The ride to Lebanon was tense and horrible. Jack continued to cry until his voice gave out, at which point he gasped and coughed repeatedly. The sound of him choking on his tears was worse than the crying. Sam pressed his foot into the accelerator, going well over the speed limit, regretting the decision to take him back to Lebanon but not daring to stop anywhere along the way. 

They burst into the emergency room with Jack limp in Cas’ arms, having fallen asleep out of pure exhaustion. 

“Please help,” Sam gasped at the receptionist, “our– our kid–” 

The receptionist punched a button on the phone, and barked some sort of number code into the receiver. “What’s the kid’s name, and how old is he?” 

“J-Jack. Jack Kline.” In a brief moment of clarity, he figured it would be safer not to use the name Winchester. “He turned six months old a few days ago.” 

“Okay. If you’ll follow Nurse Paguio–” he gestured to a nurse in purple scrubs and long black hair pulled back in a ponytail. Sam didn’t listen to the rest, just gestured to Cas and rushed down the hall. She took them to a room and closed the door. 

“All right,” she said, surprisingly calm, “if you could just tell me what’s the matter with Jack here.” 

“He’s got a fever, we can’t get it down, and he wouldn’t stop crying,” Sam explained. The nurse took Jack from Cas, causing him to wake and start whining. 

“Okay, and is there any way he could have caught some sort of disease? Have you been around anyone with the flu, anything like that?” 

“No, it’s just been us.” He watched as the nurse took Jack’s temperature with a thermometer gun and frowned deeply. 

“103,” she said, and pressed a button on the wall. “Thank you, but I’m going to need you to wait outside.” She ushered Sam and Cas out of the room as a doctor in a white coat walked quickly into the room. 

She shut the door, leaving the two men waiting outside. 

***

The sun had set by the time Dean pulled up to the cemetery. He was worried about Jack, but he pushed it to the back of his mind for the time being. Right now, he needed to take care of this ghoul. Nursing a sick child was not his forte– killing, though, that was. 

The Sarge was already there when he arrived, shotgun in hand. Dean cursed under his breath. He hoped he wouldn’t have to explain the whole ‘monsters are real’ thing to him. 

“Y’all looking for someone?” the Sarge drawled as Dean approached, also carrying a shotgun, “‘Cause I am. Bank in town just got robbed. Turned into a real O.K. Corral type of deal. Big ol’ shootout.” 

Dean glanced away. “Yeah, I heard about that.” 

The Sarge grunted in reply. “Shawnte, the clerk, recognized the perp’s voice. She said he sounded just like the fella that’s been dating Athena.” 

“That so?” Dean said, feigning surprise. He just wanted to get out to the cemetery and shoot the son of a bitch. 

“And we got prints back from the murder,” the Sarge added. “They matched prints from the bank. That boy’s been busy. I already checked out his place, it’s cleaned out, but I figure he ain’t goin’ nowhere without his best girl. So that’s why I’m here.” He paused. “Why are you here?” 

“Same thing,” Dean replied, “trying to get the bad guy.” He glanced down at the Sarge’s lack of uniform. “Where’s your badge?” 

“I don’t need one.” The Sarge gave him a pointed look. “This is family business.” 

“Well, I should tell you, I’m not taking him alive.” 

“Neither am I.” 

“All right, then. Uh, aim for the head.” He turned and led the way through the cemetery, flashlights and guns held out in front of them. They wove between headstones, searching in the dark for any sort of movement. 

Ahead of them, a branch snapped. 

“What the hell?” the Sarge muttered. 

“Come on,” Dean urged, unfazed. How many times before had he crept through dark graveyards in search of monsters that wanted him dead? He’d lost count, but it was a lot. 

They rounded an old family crypt, and stopped when they heard rustling again. 

“All right, you wait here,” Dean said, “I’m-a flush him out.” He figured that if he could get the Sarge a good shot, he could take care of the ghoul just fine, without instigating the whole ‘by the way, monsters are real’ conversation. He crept forward, but stopped when he heard rumbling beneath him. Before he could react, the Sarge yelled, and fell straight down into the ground. 

Dean ran back to the hole, cursing, and aimed his flashlight down into it. He needed to go after the Sarge. He laid down next to the hole, but the thought of following the ghoul into the ground made his stomach churn. With a groan of exasperation and fear, he pushed himself head first into the hole. He crawled through the tight dirt tunnel, grimacing as roots brushed across his face. 

“Sure,” he muttered to himself, “come to Dodge City, we’ll have some laughs.” He groaned as he continued to struggle his way through the damp dirt, breathing in dust and musty air. 

Finally, he came to a heavy iron door. He pushed it open and heaved himself out, falling farther to the floor than he anticipated. The shock of landing on concrete shot pain through his hip, and he groaned. 

In the center of the room was the undertaker, Athena, tied to a chair and gagged. She tried to cry out, but it was muffled by the handkerchief in her mouth. 

“Hey,” Dean whispered, rushing toward her. He pulled the gag from her mouth. “You okay?” 

“No,” she replied, crying, “What the hell is going on?” 

Dean figured it was too late for any attempt at a normal explanation. “Okay, well, your boyfriend, uh, is not exactly human.” 

“What?” she exclaimed. 

Dean was about to explain further, but someone else’s groaning reached him from across the room. He turned to see the Sarge writhing on the floor by one of the lab tables. 

“Hey, Sarge,” Dean said, rushing to his side. “Hey, you okay?” 

“Still kickin’,” the Sarge huffed, sitting up. He groaned. “Just barely. That sumbitch dragged me down here, tossed me around like I was a damn rag doll.” 

“You got any idea where he is?” He didn’t have time for the monster lecture right now. 

The Sarge’s eyes flicked over Dean’s shoulder. “A little bit.” 

A gun cocked behind Dean, and he froze. 

“Hands up,” came Mather’s voice behind him. 

He didn’t move. 

“Oh, I think you heard me. Raise ‘em!” 

Slowly, Dean stood, leaving his shotgun on the ground by the Sarge. He raised his hands up to shoulder height and glared at the ghoul. 

“Attaboy,” he said, revolver trained on Dean’s chest. 

“Dave?” Athena said shakily. He glanced over at her. “Don’t.” 

“It’s okay,” he replied sharply, “I’m doing this for us, baby.” 

“There is no ‘us!’” 

“Ooh, ouch,” Dean quipped, hoping he could get under the ghoul’s skin enough that he wouldn’t notice the Sarge behind him, loading up his shotgun. “Breakups can be a bitch.” 

“Shut up,” Mather warned. 

“Or what?” 

“Or I’m gonna put a bullet right between your eyes. I mean, what’d you think was gonna happen here? You come down here with no gun.” He laughed. “Like it matters anyway. You ain’t fast enough.” 

“No,” Dean conceded, “but he is.” 

He jumped to the side as Sarge pulled the trigger, blowing the ghouls head to pieces. Athena gasped as she was hit with flying chunks of brain. 

“Happy trails, cowboy,” he quipped to the slowly bleeding corpse on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger, things are going to really diverge from canon after this, because a lot of the plot points from now on sort of hinge on Jack being an adult. Also, I'm cutting out some of the dumber small plot lines. It's a challenge to plan.


	7. Chapter 7

Sam grabbed his phone out of his pocket, and checked the screen to see who was calling him. “Dean,” he said as soon as he answered. 

“Sam, I’m at the motel room, where the hell are you?” 

“The hospital in Lebanon. Jack is really sick, Cas can’t figure out what’s wrong with him.” 

“And doctors will be able to?” 

“I don’t know, Dean. It’s worth a shot.” 

He heard Dean sigh over the line. “You’re right. I’m on my way.” 

“He’s checked in as Jack Kline. Hurry.” He hung up, and continued pacing outside the door to Jack’s room. Cas walked up to him, holding a cup of coffee. Sam took it, nodding gratefully, although he figured caffeine would not be the best idea the way his anxiety was acting up. He sipped at it anyway. 

“Was that Dean on the phone?” Cas asked. 

“Yeah. He’s on his way.” 

Cas sighed. “Good.” 

A commotion at the end of the hallway caught Sam’s attention. He pressed his back against the wall as a group of doctors and nurses pushing a gurney carrying a writhing, screaming girl past them. She was bleeding from her arms. 

“No, you don’t understand, it wasn’t me!” she cried, “It was the other me! From the Bad Place!” 

Other her? Bad Place? That sounded an awful lot like multiverses to Sam. He glanced at Cas, who raised his eyebrows. He must be thinking the same thing. 

All of a sudden, Nurse Paguio and the doctor burst out of Jack’s room. The doctor walked swiftly, but the nurse stayed behind. Sam and Cas stared at her expectantly. She turned to them, and sighed. 

“We’re going to have to keep him overnight,” she explained apologetically. “We’re not sure if we’re going to be able to break the fever, and something is still causing him pain, we think a headache, but he’s too young for us to prescribe him any painkillers.” 

“But he’s okay, right?” Sam asked. 

She sighed. “Most likely, yes. There’s always the off chance that he’s not, though. Better to play it safe.” 

Sam glanced over at Cas. The angel seemed to be thinking the same thing that he was; according to Winchester luck, Jack definitely was not okay. 

“You can wait in here if you’d like,” she offered, standing aside from the door. Sam brushed past her, too worried about Jack to bother with any sort of manners. 

He stopped short. There, in the corner of the room, was a tear, just like the one at the lake on the day that Jack had been born. As soon as he saw it, it folded in on itself and disappeared. 

“Did you–” 

“I saw it.” Cas walked swiftly over to Jack, who was asleep again. Sam glanced at the door, but Nurse Paguio had shut it behind her. 

“How did he–” 

“His powers must come into the greatest effect when he’s in pain,” Cas said, answering Sam’s question before he could even finish. 

For a long moment, they were silent. Sam pushed away all thoughts of opening a portal to his mom. If it required causing Jack pain, then there was no way in hell he would even consider it. 

“If he’s in enough pain to open a portal,” Sam said slowly, “then something is really wrong.” 

Cas straightened up. “I should go to Heaven. For assistance.” 

Sam didn’t like the idea of that, but he knew it was the most reasonable course of action. “I think you may be right.” He cleared his throat. “Take my car. Dean will be here soon, I won’t need it.” 

Cas nodded. He stooped down to lay a gentle kiss on Jack’s forehead, then walked swiftly out of the room. Sam sank into a chair next to the bed. It was an adult sized bed, and it looked absolutely giant compared to the infant lying in it. He wished that Dean would hurry up and get there soon. 

***

Dean rushed into the hospital, slamming against the receptionist’s desk to stop. He started and looked up at Dean with wide eyes. 

“Jack Kline,” he said, “I’m looking for Jack Kline.” 

The receptionist shuffled through a log book before responding. “Relation to patient?” 

“He’s my kid,” Dean replied. He wasn’t sure if Sam and Cas had checked in as his parents, but he figured it would be better to be vague, have some deniability. 

“Room 117,” the receptionist replied. Dean rushed down the hall before he could ask for any more information. 

Sam was sitting in the room when he arrived. 

“How is he?” he asked. 

“The doctor’s coming back with tests soon,” Sam replied. “He’s… he’s in pain though.” 

Dean glanced at Jack’s sleeping form, looking smaller than ever in the hospital bed. “He doesn’t look to be in that much pain.” 

Sam grimaced. “He opened a portal.” 

Dean felt the blood drain out of his face. “What?” 

“He opened a portal. It closed before Cas or I could figure out what was on the other side.” 

This was too much. Dean ran a hand down his face, and sat in the chair next to Sam. “Where is Cas?” 

“He went to Heaven. Knowing our luck… something is seriously wrong, and we need help if we want to heal him.” 

“That is probably the stupidest thing you could have done,” Dean said, his voice hard. What would Heaven do to Cas when he showed up? What would they do to Jack? Surely Heaven wanted him dead. 

“Dean, what other option do we have?” 

Sam had a point. He didn’t have to like it, though. 

***

“Dumah,” Cas greeted, “thank you for agreeing to meet with me. This is a matter of great urgency. I need help, with Jack.” 

The other angel did not smile as she approached Cas. “You mean the nephilim?” 

“Yes. He’s ill, I have been unable to heal him. I need help.” 

Dumah paused before answering, her eyes void of emotion. With all the time he’d spent around the Winchesters, Cas found this blankness unsettling. “You want us to heal him.” 

“If you can. Please.” 

“If we agree to this,” Dumah said slowly, “we would bring him with us to Heaven.” 

Cas frowned. “I will not let you imprison him. He is a child.” 

“Imprison him? No. No, he would be put to work.” 

“What do you mean?” The idea of Jack’s powers at the disposal of Heaven unsettled Cas nearly as much as the idea of Jack being put in prison. 

“Castiel, the angels… our numbers were greatly diminished after the fall.” Cas felt a pang of guilt rip through his gut. While he wanted to believe what the Winchesters believed, that he was not at fault due to Metatron’s manipulation, he simply couldn’t. He had been the reason for the fall, and he would always regret it. 

“No one’s made new angels since the dawn of creation,” Dumah continued. She looked at Cas with pleading eyes, and the display of emotion unnerved Cas even more than the previous lack thereof. “We’re going extinct.” 

Cas narrowed his eyes at her. She couldn’t be implying….

“We would need a powerful force to make more of us,” Dumah said. 

“You mean Jack.” Cas shook his head. “Even if he had that power, he’s a child. He can’t control his powers, he doesn’t know how to use them.” 

“We could teach him. Guide his hand.” 

“You mean force him.” Cas scoffed. “You intend to enslave him for some kind of experiment?” 

“Castiel, he’s not your pet.” The words struck Cas to his core. Of course he wasn’t his pet. He was his child. “He belongs to all of us.” 

Before Cas could respond, the sandbox portal revealed two more angels. He backed away, wary of the two, as they approached him and Dumah. 

“You did well, Dumah,” the first angel praised. “You delivered him as promised.” Cas felt his heart rate skyrocket. This had been a bad idea. He never should have come. “We hear you have influence with the nephilim,” the angel continued, “He looks to you for guidance.” 

“No,” Cas said, hoping he sounded firm rather than desperate. He would not be a part of any plan to kidnap and enslave Jack. He’d rather kill more angels than put his child through the corrupt heirarchy of Heaven. “I will not help you.” 

“Ever the renegade,” the angel snarked. 

“Castiel, please,” Dumah said, stepping toward Cas, “come with us.” 

Cas shoved her back, and slid his blade into his hand. Dumah did the same. She slashed the blade at him, but he ducked out of the way. He blocked and parried, just trying to get away, but it was three against one. Before he knew what was happening, Dumah had her blade at his throat. 

“Drop the blade, Dumah,” came a voice from behind them. No. That couldn’t be. Dumah turned, dragging Cas with her, to see Lucifer standing at the edge of the trees. 

He leaned forward threateningly. “You hesitate?” he said. Cas recalled a vague moment from when Lucifer was possessing him. ‘He who hesitates disintegrates.’ 

Dumah still did not drop the blade. 

Lucifer smirked. “This isn’t gonna be one of those ‘make my day’ moments, is it?” 

Still, Dumah hesitated. 

“Okay,” Lucifer said, shrugging and lighting his eyes up red. “Bye-bye.” 

With that, Dumah dropped her blade from Cas’ throat and ran back to the portal, along with the other two angels. Cas watched as they disappeared in a cloud of sand and grace, then turned his attention back to Lucifer, arguably the larger threat. 

Lucifer coughed, the red glow in his eyes sputtering out. Cas relaxed just a little bit as Lucifer sank down onto a park bench, but kept his blade at the ready. 

“What are you doing back in this world?” he asked. 

“What are you doing alive?” Lucifer shot back. 

“It’s complicated.” 

“Same here.” Lucifer leaned forward in a conversational manner, as though he hadn’t been the one to stab Cas in the back last time they’d interacted. “Obviously, getting here took its toll.” 

“You’re weak,” Cas stated, striding toward Lucifer. If he could just take him out, eliminate this threat right now– 

“Oh, cowboy, I’m not that weak,” Lucifer shot back, standing from the bench and backing away. Cas stopped, but did not let his glare waver. “You and I need to talk.” 

“I have no interest in talking to you,” Cas growled, “and if this is about your son–” 

“Okay, I get it, I get it,” Lucifer chided. “Custody of my son is a non-starter. But if you can please just shelve the eternal enemies thing for a second, we have a situation.” Cas narrowed his eyes. “And by ‘we,’ I mean everything alive. We’re sorta...” Lucifer sighed, “all gonna die.” He shrugged in a manner that was probably supposed to appear helpless. 

Cas did not trust Lucifer, but so long as he was mostly powerless, he figured it wouldn’t cause too much harm to hear him out. 

*** 

Sam stood as the doctor entered the room. He was smiling gently. 

“Jack is going to be fine,” the doctor said. Sam fell back into the chair, and heard Dean sigh in relief beside him. 

“So we came in here for nothing?” Dean said, huffing lightly. 

“Well, he has a little case of the flu, but he’s fighting it extremely well for someone as young as him. His fever broke last night, and he’ll probably have headaches for the next day or so, but he will be alright.” He paused. “It’s a good thing you brought him in, though. There are many bigger problems that it could have been. Your boy got lucky.” 

Sam scoffed. The Winchesters, lucky? That was a first. 

“I need to check on another patient. You can leave when he wakes up, just make sure he drinks a lot of fluids.” The doctor turned and left the room. 

“Who’d’ve thought the Winchesters would get lucky?” Dean quipped. 

“Yeah.” With the danger of Jack’s health averted, his mind wandered back to the girl he’d seen earlier. He stood and left the room, heading to the room a few doors down that she’d been taken to. 

Sam glanced at the papers on the door before entering. Kaia Nieves. Age nineteen. Admitted for an overdose and sleep deprivation. 

He slowly pushed open the door. The girl was sitting up, staring at him with a fearful look in her eyes. 

“Who are you?” she asked. “You’re not a doctor or a nurse.” 

“No, I’m not,” Sam agreed, gently shutting the door behind him. No point in lying to this girl. “My name is Sam Winchester.” 

“What do you want?” 

“I want to know why you’re in here.” 

She looked away, picking at the edge of the sheet with fingernails painted with chipped black polish. “Drugs.” 

“Yeah, I got that much. I heard you in the hallway. What’s the Bad Place?” 

Her head snapped up. “Nothing. It isn’t real.” 

“I don’t know, those bandages look pretty real.” 

She ran her fingers self consciously over the white bandages. 

“I don’t want to put those things in me,” she said quietly. Sam’s heart panged with sympathy as he thought of his problems with demon blood. “It’s just… the only thing that keeps me awake. The only thing that keeps me from the Bad Place.” 

“I know how you feel,” Sam replied softly, “I’ve been in a similar place.” 

She looked up at him skeptically. “Why do you want to know about the Bad Place?” 

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again. Should he tell the truth? What if she couldn’t help him, and he just traumatized her with the truth for no reason? 

“Just… tell me how you get there.” 

Kaia hesitated before answering. “I’m a dreamwalker.” 

Sam blinked. “A what?” He vaguely remembered reading something about it, but nothing substantial. 

“A dreamwalker. When I sleep, I go to different worlds.” She looked away. 

Sam’s mind was racing. Could she guide Jack? Guide his portals, get them to the Apocalypse World? 

“Thank you,” he said breathlessly, and rushed back to the room where Dean was sitting next to Jack. 

“What’s got you all worked up?” Dean asked. 

So quickly he stumbled over his words, Sam explained what Kaia had told him. Dean’s eyes grew wider and wider. 

“So,” Dean said when Sam had finished, “You think….” 

“That Kaia could guide Jack’s portals to the right world? Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” 

“Let me talk to her.” Dean stood and rushed out of the room. Sam followed quickly behind. 

“Son of a bitch!” 

Sam pushed past his brother to see that the room was empty. The window was open, letting in a cold draft. Sam walked over to the bed with the messed up sheets, and paused. There on the side table was a sketchbook that Kaia must have forgotten in her haste to escape. 

He picked up the sketchbook and flipped through the pages. His heart dropped. Among the many drawings of forests and otherworldly monsters, there was a drawing of a barren wasteland jutted with large spikes. The Apocalypse World. And there, shown running between two spikes, was a woman who very much resembled Mary Winchester. 

So Kaia had been to the Apocalypse World. Maybe she could guide Jack’s portals to that place. Maybe she could help them get their mom back. Not to mention, this was cold hard proof that their mom was alive. He tore out the drawing and showed it to Dean. 

“We need to find her,” his brother said. 

***

“Everything I am telling you is true,” Lucifer whispered urgently. “You were there, man. You saw what that place was like.” Cas glanced around the bar, scoping out the exits in case things went bad. “The Michael I just described to you is responsible for that.” This other Michael did sound terrible, but Cas was honestly more concerned with maintaining his living state. So long as that Michael stayed in the other world, they had nothing to worry about. 

Lucifer bristled with irritation as Cas’ eyes flicked toward the door again. “What? What? What? What? Will you– will you do me a favor and stop looking at the door every five seconds like you wanna get out of here?” 

“You’ll forgive me if I’m a little on edge,” Cas growled. “The last time we were together, you killed me.” 

“Well, last time we were together, you stabbed me,” Lucifer shot back. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas replied, without a drop of remorse in his voice. 

“You wanna dwell on the past? I don’t.” Lucifer leaned forward. “I’m not myself anyway. What am I gonna do? Okay?” Cas supposed he had a point. “Look, it’s time to save the world. Be the heroic Castiel instead of the butt of Heaven’s joke.” 

“I am not–” Cas stopped himself. He supposed that he probably was under much scorn from Heaven, given his attachment to the Winchesters. 

“I’m just sayin’,” Lucifer quipped. 

“Okay,” Cas said, letting every ounce of irritation drain into his voice, “how do I save the world?” 

“We,” Lucifer corrected. “We.” 

“No.” 

“Yes. Look, you protected my son. He trusts you. If you can convince him to be on our team, I think the combined power of the three of us can drive Michael back. I’m telling you, this guy is not the same Michael that we knew. He’s much more powerful.” 

“First of all, Jack is a child. A child. Second, if this Michael comes–” 

“Not if. When. When. The guy’s on a mission.” 

“Well, you would seem to be the weak link on this team.” Cas made his derision clear in his tone. 

“Okay, that hurt.” Lucifer looked away. “That… was unnecessary.” He waved his hands. “I’m gonna let it go. Yes, my grace is a little bit depleted, but give me time, man.” 

“Work this out with me,” Cas said. “Hypothetically, let’s say you’re lying, and I take you to Jack, and then you kill me again–” 

“Cut me a little bit of slack. Please?” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “That unhinged thing and that meth head Kevin Tran are about to bust through that door. God isn’t here! It’s just us! We’re all we got, in case you hadn’t noticed!” 

Cas sighed. Unfortunately, the devil had a point. “Well, I have to talk to Sam and Dean.” Not to mention, he would not take Lucifer to Jack unless it was absolutely necessary. 

Lucifer groaned loudly and childishly, and banged his head on the table. “Why, why, why, with all their second guessing and their whining?” Cas resented that, but made no move to reply. “This is an emergency, Castiel, and all they’re gonna wanna do is put me back in the Cage.” 

“That’s all I want!” Cas replied fiercely. 

“But right now,” Lucifer replied, pointing a finger at Cas, “you need me, I need you, and we both need my son.” 

Cas didn’t want to admit that he needed Lucifer more than he could know about. Yes, he supposed he would need Lucifer for the Michael problem, should that come to pass, but he also needed him to heal Jack. 

“Not changing the subject, but we’ll get back to it,” Lucifer mumbled, “I just wanna ask you, how did you hide him so well? I mean, I tried to get a bead on him, and no bueno.” 

“Jack.” He glared at Lucifer. “Your son’s name is Jack.” He didn’t like to give Lucifer any claim on Jack– he wasn’t the one raising him– but the way Lucifer focused solely on Jack’s power and paid no heed to any other aspects of Jack’s character angered him to no end. 

“Jack,” Lucifer echoed, “wow.” He shook his head. “Is he… awesome? I mean, is he a chip off the old block?” 

“Thankfully, no.” Maybe it was too soon to tell, but Cas couldn’t imagine Jack growing up to be bad, not with the loving family that he and Sam and Dean provided him. “No, he seems to favor his mother.” 

“Ah, that’s nothing that we can’t fix.” Cas’ stomach roiled to see Lucifer talk about Jack like that. “But seriously, you know, why can’t I detect a presence?” 

“I don’t know,” Cas admitted. “He….” 

“He is okay, though, right?” 

The look of concern on Lucifer’s face enraged Cas beyond comprehension, but he was rightfully worried. Cas looked away. 

“Oh my Dad,” Lucifer whispered, “he’s not okay, is he?” 

Cas paused before responding. “He’s… ill.” 

Lucifer banged his hands on the table. “It’s bad enough the Winchesters were babysitting my son,” he bemoaned, “but now he’s sick? With Heaven, Hell, and everything in between wanting him dead?” 

“In their defense,” Cas shot back, “they were doing their best to raise him in a caring environment.” 

“And look how well that’s going! I mean, what could they possibly know about an entity like Jack, about his potential?” 

“He is a child,” Cas replied firmly, “and he requires a loving environment. As for his potential, having seen it firsthand, they know that it needs to be carefully channeled.” 

“Really?” Lucifer looked excited. “Kid’s a bruiser, huh?” 

Cas glared at him. 

“Come on, man, let me have just this little bit. Just– just tell me one thing.” Cas buried his face in his hands. He couldn’t believe he had to deal with this. 

“Did he hurt ‘em?” Lucifer asked gleefully. “Did they suffer just a little bit?” 

Before Cas could answer, the door to the bar swung open, accompanied by a crash of thunder. Standing there was a demon wearing a man in a white suit with a large scar down his face. Cas presumed, by Sam and Dean’s previous description, that this was Asmodeus. He was accompanied by a number of other demons. 

Cas stood, angel blade at the ready, as Asmodeus stalked toward him and Lucifer. 

“Hey, man,” Lucifer greeted, failing to sound casual and nonchalant. 

“Lord Lucifer,” Asmodeus greeted in a sarcastic Southern accent. 

“Lil’ Asmodeus,” Lucifer shot back, “My onetime stooge, runt of the litter.” Cas silently wished that Lucifer would shut up. “Dimmest bulb in the string, et cetera, et cetera. I see you must’ve taken Crowley’s spot? Yeah. That’s okay, you can stand down now.” He cleared his throat, and Cas was alarmed to hear the fear in his tone. “Skipper’s back.” 

“Well, here’s the thing, Lou,” Asmodeus drawled, walking slowly toward Cas and Lucifer. “I’m real satisfied with my current position. Hell is humming along quite nicely, thank you.” Cas adjusted his grip on his blade. “But I do hope you and your little lap angel will pay me a visit.” The demon dragged his eyes over Cas, making his skin crawl. 

“Yes, well,” Lucifer replied, his voice quieter, “see, here’s the thing. We’re all booked up, buddy.” Lucifer grabbed Cas’ arm possessively. 

“Oh, I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Asmodeus replied before Cas could react to the unwelcome touch. Lucifer dropped his arm, and turned to the demon. 

“Now you know better than to screw with me, Asmodeus,” he warned. 

“Oh, I knew better than to screw with the old you,” Asmodeus shot back. Lucifer stayed silent, so the demon continued. “But this new version seems a little more… screwable.” 

Lucifer puffed out his chest, his eyes flashing red. “So help me,” he whispered threateningly. 

“Aw, please.” Asmodeus flicked his finger, and both Lucifer and Cas flew backward, slamming into the bar. 

Though it shouldn’t have been possible, Cas blacked out.


	8. Chapter 8

An overgrown canopy. 

A cloaked figure darting through large tree trunks. 

A girl writhing in a chair, two glowing figures standing over her. 

The tip of a large forked blade sinking into flesh. 

Jody Mills, her eyes wide and unseeing. 

Dean and a long-haired man with similar facial features. 

Jody again. 

The forked blade again, blood dripping from the tip. 

The blaring of a car horn brought Patience out of her vision. She gasped, and finished pulling into her driveway. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting there, stuck in her reverie. 

Somehow, she knew that the glowing figures she’d seen were angels. And somehow, she knew that Dean needed to find the girl that they were holding captive. 

She raced upstairs to her bedroom, and began to pack a duffel bag. Damn school. Damn everything that held her back. She was needed out there. The Winchesters needed her help, and it seemed to her that whatever they were dealing with, it was bad. 

“Patience, what’s going on?” came her dad’s voice from the doorway. 

“I’m going to miss a few days of school. No big deal.” It was a big deal, though; her grades were dropping, and she couldn’t focus anymore, and her visions were getting more frequent. She zipped up her bag, and tried to brush past her dad, but he grabbed her arm. 

“Patience,” he said sternly. 

She inhaled deeply. “Someone… a friend’s in danger.” She needed to help Jody. The dead look in her eyes frightened Patience. “They’re going to be in danger.” She turned and rushed down the stairs, not wanting to look her dad in the eyes. 

“You had a vision.” 

She stopped. Her dad had told her to try and get rid of them, ignore them, make them go away. But it was the only way she felt connected to her grandmother, and despite the knowledge that it had been her dad’s fault that she never got to know her, she still felt guilty. “They never stopped.” She didn’t need to mention that she was actively practicing. 

A burst of courage allowed her to turn around and face her dad. “I see things before they happen. Usually small things– a conversation, what someone will be wearing the next day. But Dad, this is someone’s life. I can’t sit here and do nothing. I can’t.” She straightened up. 

“Dad, this is who I am.” 

Her dad gave her a look full of disappointment. “No,” he said softly, “if you get involved in that….” He looked down. “Look, I was wrong to lie about Grandma. But you know what happened to her.” He had a point, Patience had to admit. But… 

“You raised me to do what’s right,” she said slowly, “and this is what’s right. If I don’t go, people will die.” Her heart hammered in her chest. She had never defied her father like this, but she knew that it was necessary. Jody and Dean were in danger. 

Her dad gave her a mournful look. She couldn’t bear to watch it, so she turned and jogged the rest of the way down the stairs. As she ran out the front door, she heard her dad behind her. 

“Patience, don’t.” She stopped in her tracks. “You go now, you choose that life, you don’t come back.” 

She wanted to turn around, go back to the safety of her home, back to her father. But she couldn’t. She just couldn’t. She clenched her jaw, and walked the rest of the way to her car, making certain she didn’t look back. She couldn’t bear to see the disappointment and betrayal on her father’s face. 

As soon as she was out of the driveway, she picked up her phone and called Dean Winchester. 

***

“I got Jody to put out an APB on Kaia,” Sam said, hanging up his cell, “but we gotta find her fast.” 

Dean nodded, his eyes locked on the road. They had a chance at saving their mom. He hadn’t dared hope that it was possible, but now…. 

“You were right,” he said, guilt crashing through him. “This whole time, we should’ve been looking for her.” 

“Dean, I was just hoping. I didn’t know.” He clicked a few buttons on his phone before continuing. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Now that we do know–” 

“We find her. No matter what it takes.” He had a mission. He had a goal. He would see it through. 

He glanced at Jack, sleeping in the backseat. As much as he hated the idea of using the kid’s pain as a tool, he knew it was the only way to get Mom back. 

“We need to call Cas, let him know that everything’s alright. Get him off the Heaven search.” 

Dean nodded, and pulled his phone out. He searched for Cas’ contact, and hit the call button. 

He picked up on the second ring. “Hello, Dean.” 

“Cas, hey. Jack’s fine, turns out we all freaked over nothing. We’ve got some antibiotics and it’s all good. Where are you? You didn’t get any trouble from Heaven, did you?” 

“Heaven went fine. I’m following a very interesting lead. I’ll fill you in when I know more. See you soon, Dean.” With that, Cas hung up. 

Dean furrowed his brow. There was something off about the conversation; Cas had sounded robotic, emotionless, almost like he did when Naomi was in control. 

He shook the thought off. Naomi was dead, Cas was fine. 

His phone rang again, and he frowned, and glanced at caller ID. Patience Turner? He answered. 

“Dean?” came Patience’s voice, before he could even say hello. 

“Yeah, it’s me. What’s up?” 

“The girl you’re looking for. The one with the dark hair. The angels have her tied up in some abandoned warehouse.” 

Dean glanced at Sam. “Where?” 

***

Kaia slid into consciousness and gasped, her head throbbing in pain. She was tied to a chair. Pulling against the restraints proved to be useless. She glanced around, and discovered that she was in some sort of abandoned room, a warehouse or something. 

The clack of high heels on the hard floor alerted her to another presence. She looked up to see the woman she’d attempted to hitchhike with walking toward her. The bitch had clubbed her over the head. 

“We hear you’ve been in conference with the Winchesters,” the woman said, stalking in a circle around Kaia. 

“Winchester… the hippie-looking guy at the hospital?” Her head hurt too much to be thinking this hard. How the hell was she getting out of this? 

“We also hear that you’re a powerful dreamwalker. You can walk between worlds.” 

Oh, god. Was that what they wanted her to do? 

“The Winchesters are looking to jump between worlds, in search of their mother. We know that they’ll be looking for you.” The woman smiled at Kaia coldly. “Making you the perfect bait.” 

She scoffed. “Your plan? It sucks. They won’t come for me.” Although, given her situation, she kind of hoped they would. 

“What do you mean?” the woman asked. 

“I’m not the kind of girl folks come looking for. In this world, I don’t even rank a milk carton.” She could feel her voice cracking. “No one is going to come for me. I’m not white, rich, blonde. No one’s gonna fight for me. I don’t matter.” 

“Of course you don’t matter,” the woman snapped. Her heart sunk as the truth hit her. “But they think you do. They’ll show.” Kaia didn’t believe that for a second, but so long as the woman deemed her useful, she’d remain alive. “And when they do, we’ll kill them and take the child.” 

“That so?” The voice was male, deep and gruff. 

From the hallway came a man with a hard face, holding Kaia’s other kidnapper hostage with a strange blade to his throat. The man she’d met in the hospital, Sam Winchester, followed closely behind. 

“You know, the girl’s right,” he said. “Your plan does kind of suck.” 

“Give us the girl,” Sam said. Kaia realized he had a baby strapped to his chest, which was very odd given the hostage situation going on. If she weren’t so scared, she would have laughed. 

“She’s not what we want,” the woman replied, eyeing the child with an almost hungry expression. “The child should be among his own kind.” 

“No,” the other man said roughly, “he should be with his family. With us.” 

“Fine.” A blade just like the one the man carried dropped from the woman’s sleeve as the other of Kaia’s kidnappers threw his head back, knocking the man away. 

All of a sudden, a burst of energy came from the bundle strapped to Sam’s chest. Kaia watched in shock and fear as her kidnappers were blown away, the woman tumbling through a window and the man falling on his blade. His eyes sparked with brilliant white light as he screamed in agony. 

“I got her!” yelled the other man to Sam, running after the woman who had fallen through the window. 

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, kneeling down to untie the ropes from Kaia’s wrists. The baby on his chest babbled excitedly, as if it were normal. 

“No!” Kaia cried, “What the hell was that?!” Her head throbbed painfully from both the concussion and the very strange things she had witnessed. Usually these sorts of things only occurred in the Bad Place. 

“They were angels,” Sam replied, as if that explained everything. 

“Angels?” 

“Yes, and we’re hunters. We kill things like them.” 

“Right,” she said, hoping to deflect the whole situation with sarcasm, “and the kid there is the son of Satan.” 

Sam froze. “Uh, yes, actually. His name is Jack.” 

What the fuck? “You’re insane.” Sam finished cutting her loose and lifted her to her feet. Her knees felt weak, but she managed to stand on her own. 

“Yeah, the whole world’s insane.” The other man was back. “You get used to it.” He sighed. “She took off. She might be back, she might not.” In reference to the other supposed angel, Kaia guessed. 

“Yeah, we should move.” Kaia followed them out of the warehouse. 

“Look,” Sam said as soon as they were outside, “Kaia, I’m sure this is a lot.” He sighed. “But we need you, okay? My brother and I, our mother is trapped in another world–” he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, and Kaia recognized it as one of her drawings “–and if you can guide Jack to it–” he gestured to the baby on his chest “–then he can open a door–” 

“And we can save her.” Sam’s brother looked positively murderous with determination. Kaia glanced between them, unsure of what to do. Every instinct she had was telling her not to trust these men. 

“I…” she inhaled deeply. “Look, you guys want me to dreamwalk. You think it’s a gift, but it’s not. It’s a curse. I only ever go to one place– the Bad Place.” She shuddered, her mind already trying to go back to that place, against her will. “It’s just blood and death and monsters. I’ve only been to that other place once.” 

“But you have been to Apocalypse World?” Sam asked. 

“Only once, but I’m telling you, all the other times it’s only been the Bad Place.” 

“Well, sounds like a lifetime of bad dreams–” 

“Bad dreams?” Kaia interrupted, gawking at them. She stomped toward them, lifting the sleeve to reveal the bandage on her arm. “When I get hurt over there, I don’t wake up sweaty. I wake up bloody.” She was trembling now. The two men stared in pity at her mauled arm. “This scar, it isn’t the only one. I’m sorry about your mom, but I can’t help you.” 

“Kaia, please,” Sam said, “Just once. Just so we can get our mom. Please.” The other brother had begun to pace, and kicked at the tires of his car. 

“I….” As much as she wanted to help, she couldn’t go back. She couldn’t go back there. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she cast her gaze downward. 

“Just come with us to South Dakota.” The other brother had spoken, his voice stony and grief-ridden. 

Well. Kaia had a cousin in South Dakota. She hadn’t spoken to him in years, but if she could catch a ride, get a place to stay….

“Okay,” she said softly. She didn’t look at them as Sam opened the back door for her. She slid into the back seat, next to Jack’s car seat. The car was old, vintage. It was strange to see a baby seat on its leather seats. 

“My name is Dean, by the way.” 

“Kaia.” 

“I know.” 

They drove for hours, nervousness eating at her guts and pain throbbing in her skull. Jack slept, every once in a while stirring and whining but calming when Sam reached his hand back and let the kid wrap his tiny hand around his large finger. 

All of a sudden, a car appeared on the wrong side of the road, directly ahead of them. Dean slammed on the brakes, and the car skidded into the dirt along the side of the road. Kaia hit her head on the window, and felt her mind go fuzzy. Jack began to cry. 

“Oh, crap,” Dean muttered. She felt the car lurch forward, tires skidding on the gravel. 

All of a sudden, the car stopped, and Sam was opening her door. 

“Out, out, out,” he barked, squeezing past her to take Jack from his car seat. 

“Get them into the boat!” Dean yelled to Sam. Jack began to scream louder, clutching to Sam’s jacket as he grabbed a duffel bag from his brother. 

“Come on!” Sam yelled. Kaia followed blindly. 

She and Sam sprinted into a large decrepit ship. Sam shoved Jack into her arms, and she bounced him nervously as Sam pulled out a can of spray paint and began to spray strange sigils onto the walls. Her pulse pounded in her throat and skull. 

“What’s happening?” she asked, not bothering to keep the fear from her voice. 

“We’re screwed.” Dean was back, carrying another duffel and one of those strange blades. “There’s too damn many of them!” 

He stormed past Sam and Kaia and the screaming Jack and led the way up the stairs to an upper deck of the ship. Kaia had never been so scared, not even in the Bad Place. 

“How long will this warding hold?” Dean barked to Sam. 

“I don’t know,” Sam replied, rushing to finish another sigil. 

All of a sudden, they found themselves in what must have formerly been a dining hall, but with all the tables removed. Sam sprayed another sigil on the wall, and turned to Dean, but a loud rumbling noise rocked the ship. The sigil sparked violently. 

“All right, we gotta fight them off. There’s too many of them to let them in and then blast them away,” Dean said, running a hand over his face. He turned to Kaia. “Kid, I’m sorry to drag you into this.” 

Her heart dropped to her stomach. Dean thought they were going to die. Good god, were they going to die? 

The ground rumbled again, briefly drowning out Jack’s cries. Yep, they were definitely going to die. 

“Wait.” An idea had struck Kaia. “If I can help Jack open a door, then we can get out of here.” As much as she didn’t want to go to the Bad Place, she knew she had a higher chance of survival there than here. 

“What if something goes wrong?” Sam asked, panicked. The ship rumbled again. The sigil was melting off the wall. 

“Something already is going wrong!” Dean yelled, “Kaia, do it!” 

Kaia sat cross-legged in the center of the room. Jack screamed even louder, and she was shocked to see his eyes glowing yellow. Ready or not, this was happening. The ship rumbled again. 

She gave her hands to the baby, letting him wrap his tiny hands around her fingers. Power jolted through her. She could see it. The Bad Place. Desperately, she tried to shift to the other place, the place Sam had called Apocalypse World. 

The ground rumbled again, and the Bad Place melted into the Apocalypse World. She saw the spikes, the horrible wasteland. She saw the ruins of a wooden church, a woman hiding in a corner. 

But she couldn’t hold her focus. The Bad Place came back, trees and mist and monsters. 

Power jolted through her again, shooting pain through her entire body. She screamed. No, no, no, this was wrong, this wasn’t how it was supposed to work. 

But it was too late. 

***

Cas woke in a cell. Though nothing he could see suggested it, he knew that he was in Hell. 

He patted down his pockets. His phone and blade were gone. 

A voice drifted down the hall. Vaguely, he recognized it as his own. But not his own, because he was sitting in a cell down a hallway from where the voice was. 

His heart dropped. 

Asmodeus. 

***

Jody sighed as her call went to voicemail. “Hey, Sam, could you call me back? I just need to know you’re okay.” The whole Kaia Nieves business concerned her. What the hell had happened between that call and now? 

A knock sounded on the door. She frowned. Had Alex invited someone over without telling her? But no, she was on shift at the hospital. 

Jody opened the door to find Patience Turner standing on her doorstep. 

“Patience?” 

“Jody, I… I had a vision.” The poor girl looked terrified. “Something bad’s coming.” 

Jody knew it was beyond hope, but she hoped that it didn’t have anything to do with Sam and Dean not answering their phones. 

***

Dean groaned, and sat up. 

Was this… Purgatory? 

But no, this place may have been an old growth forest, but it was bathed in blueish light and covered in lush green moss. 

“Sam?” 

“I’m good,” came his brother’s strained voice from beside him. A knot in his stomach unclenched. 

Dean pushed himself to his feet, clutching his angel blade. He looked around. No, this definitely wasn’t Purgatory. And it sure as hell wasn’t Apocalypse World. 

“Where the hell are we?” He looked around, and froze. 

What the fuck. 

Was that… a dinosaur footprint? 

A hell of a large one; it was longer than Baby. 

His stomach dropped. 

So this was the Bad Place.


	9. Chapter 9

Claire watched as the little girl she’d just saved ran up the front walkway and into her mothers arms. The sight played at her heartstrings; moments like these made her miss her mother. Her father, too. Not that Castiel hadn’t made his own place in her heart, but he could never take Jimmy’s place. Jody, though… she had definitely taken a motherly role in Claire’s life. 

Her cell rang, pulling her out of her reverie. Speak of the devil. 

“Hi, Jody.” Was she in trouble? She didn’t think she was in trouble. It had been a while since she’d heard from Jody, though. 

“Hi, Claire,” Jody replied. “It’s… it’s Sam and Dean.” 

Not good. 

“They’re missing. They were on a hunting trip, and I haven’t heard from them in a few days.” 

Definitely not good, if it were Winchester-level trouble. 

“It’s time to come home.” 

Three hours later, she walked though the front door. Jody was in uniform, standing by the kitchen table while Alex pored over the address book. 

“Surprise,” she greeted. She knew that Jody would not be happy with the split lip and bruises, but shockingly, her mother-figure was smiling at her. “You miss me?” 

“Not really,” Alex replied. So, things weren’t so dire as to outlaw their usual sarcastic banter. That was good. 

Jody walked toward her. 

“Uh, it’s just a werewolf,” Claire said, fingering her split lip, “no big deal.” 

To her surprise, Jody simply hugged her. Though the whole physical affection thing didn’t really appeal to Claire, she had to admit to herself, it was kinda nice. 

But she didn’t have to admit it to Jody. 

“Whoa, when did we become huggers?” she quipped lightly. 

Jody backed out of the hug. “I’m just glad you’re home safe.” 

Claire nodded. 

“There’s somebody I want you to meet,” Jody said, pointing behind Claire. She turned to see a strange new girl. “This is Patience.” 

“Hi.” Claire wasn’t sure how to feel about Jody adopting yet another wayward soul. 

“Hi.” Patience seemed to have similar reservations about Claire. 

“Patience drove up from Atlanta,” Jody explained, “she’s been staying with us for a few days.” 

“You a hunter?” She sure didn’t look like one. No muscles on her. 

“Psychic.” 

Claire nodded. “Cool.” Wait a minute. Was that…? “You’re wearing my sweatshirt.” 

Patience glanced down nervously. “Uh… Jody–” 

“Is she sleeping in my room, too?” Claire asked, turning on Jody. 

Jody gave her a stern look. “Actually, the guest room is storage now. So–” 

“It’s fine.” Claire knew she had no ground to stand on here. “I’m the one who left.” God, how long had it been? Weeks? Months? 

There was a long and awkward pause. 

“So,” Claire said loudly, “Sam and Dean– what do we know?” She walked past Jody and sat at the table. 

Jody pulled out her phone and played a message. 

“Hey Jody.” It was Sam’s voice. “Thanks for your help earlier. So listen, we’re looking for someone named Kaia Nieves. She might be the key to saving Mom. So if you hear anything–” 

Dean’s voice interrupted the recording. “Gotta go. Call you later.” 

“Ow.” Claire flinched as Alex pressed an alcohol wipe to a scrape on Claire’s cheek. 

“Baby,” she shot back. Claire slapped her hand away. 

“That was three days ago,” Jody said, ignoring the teenagers. “Haven’t heard anything since.” 

“What about the girl?” Claire asked. “Kaia.” Alex resumed cleaning her wounds. 

“Yeah, I ran her name through the system,” Jody replied. “She was picked up for possession in Lebanon, Kansas, and then she escaped from the hospital there three days ago. There’s a warrant out for her arrest.” 

Jody passed her a paper with Kaia’s description and mug shots. She looked angry, as angry as Claire felt on bad days. 

“Check the rehab center and the nearby hospitals,” Claire suggested. 

“Already did,” Alex said. She turned to Jody. “You gonna be okay?” 

“Yeah.” Jody didn’t sound like she was going to be okay. 

Claire glanced between the two of them, but decided not to ask. Alex stood and made to leave the room. 

“Where are you going?” 

“Night shift,” Alex replied. 

“So Sam and Dean are missing, and you’re bailing?” 

“I have a job, Claire.” 

“Well, so do I. It’s called hunting.” 

Alex didn’t respond. “Good luck,” she said quietly as she left the room. 

For a long moment, they sat in silence. Then Claire sat up. 

“What is she talking about?” Alex really hadn’t said anything, but, well, that was exactly what was wrong. 

“Claire,” Jody said softly. 

“If this is about me hunting alone,” she continued, determined to shut down an argument before it happened, “I know I should have called more, but–” Jody tried to speak, but Claire raised her voice “–I’m fine. I’m good. I’m safe.” 

“No,” Jody yelled back, her voice breaking, “No, you’re not. Patience had a vision.” She lowered her voice when she saw Claire’s shocked expression. “That’s why she’s here.” 

They both looked over at Patience. Claire was skeptical– sure, she’d seen a lot more of the supernatural than most, but she had to draw the line somewhere. 

“I…” Patience looked legitimately frightened. “I saw you die.” 

Claire couldn’t help but laugh. Typical psychic mumbo jumbo, predicting her doom. Jody gave her a mournful look, and the smile drained from Claire’s face. 

“Claire, she’s the real deal,” Jody scolded, worry written all over her face. 

“So,” Claire said, turning to Patience, “every vision you have, it always comes true?” 

“I don’t know,” Patience replied. “I’m still figuring all this out.” 

“So you might be wrong.” She fell back against the back of the chair. 

“Claire, this is serious!” Jody cried, “I’m trying to protect you!” 

“Jody, that’s always your excuse.” Honestly, Claire was sick of it. “Every time we’d go out on a hunt together, you’d end up taking care of the monster while I wait in the car.” 

“That happened one time!” 

“It happened every time, Jody!” Now that they were finally having this argument, Claire decided it was time to let loose. “You’ve never even seen what I can do.” 

“Claire, if I put the brakes on you, it’s because you can’t go dive-bombing into every fight.”

“Yes, I can!” She stood so that she towered over Jody. “That’s how you save people! Sitting back and making the perfect plan, losing time? That’s how people end up dead.” 

“And if you end up dead?!” Now Jody was standing too. 

Claire paused. She didn’t really have an argument against that. The point was to die heroically, maybe not sooner but definitely not that much later. 

“I won’t,” she said quietly. 

Jody stared at her in disbelief. Claire couldn’t take this. She didn’t want to. She began to walk out the door. 

“Claire, you can’t just run away from this,” Jody said sternly. 

“Watch me.” She was better on her own. She didn’t hurt people when she was on her own. She stormed out the front door. 

***

“The patient in Room 11’s been released. Her room needs to be sanitized.” 

Alex smiled to herself. “Already done, and I processed her discharge paperwork.” She liked working here at the hospital. It was good to be able to help people, especially in a decidedly nonviolent way. 

Nurse Johnson nodded. “Well done.” She signed a form and handed it to Alex, then left. Alex sat at her desk to start processing the paperwork. 

“Nice outfit.” 

Alex looked up. Of course Claire was here. “It’s a uniform. What’s your excuse?” 

“I look great,” Claire replied defensively. 

“You look like Biker Barbie.” Alex finished one form and moved on to the next. 

Claire paused before answering. “Thank you.” 

Alex gave her a small smile before returning to her work. 

“You knew? About the whole vision thing?” 

“Yep. And I knew how you’d react.” She didn’t look up, but she knew Claire was nodding. 

“So… you have a job?” 

Right. She had started after Claire left. 

“But you still help Jody with cases,” she continued, “I thought you wanted out of the whole monster thing.” 

Alex snatched the stack of papers from her desk and set them roughly in the stacking cubicle in which they belonged. “If she needs my help with anything– the dishes, monsters– I’m there. For her.” She wished Claire could see how selfish of her it had been to leave. 

Claire bit her lip. “Unlike me.” 

Alex stared at her for a moment before looking down at her paperwork again. Claire looked guilty. Maybe she was being a little bit hard on her. 

“Alex,” Claire said, “the way things were going, if I’d stuck around, she just would’ve worried all the time.” 

“Claire, she never stopped.” How could she not realize that? 

Claire looked away. 

“Anyway.” She turned away, uncomfortable with the vulnerability that Claire was showing. “I’m guessing you didn’t crash my job for a heart-to-heart. What do you want?” She smiled at Claire. She didn’t want to pick a fight, not when she’d just gotten back. 

Claire smiled back, and leaned forward excitedly. “Two minutes in your system?” 

“I told you,” Alex whispered back, “I already checked.” 

“Well, did you run rock star aliases?” Claire walked around the end of the desk to stand behind Alex. 

“From metal gods to obscure hair bands. Nothing.” 

“Okay, what about the girl, Kaia?” 

“Yes.” Alex typed a series of commands into her computer. 

“You try Jane Does?” 

“I did.” She typed it in again anyway. A new result popped up. “But….” She opened the file. “An unidentified woman was just brought in.” 

“Where?” 

“Here.” 

***

Claire stalked down the hallway and stopped by the window of the closest room. She looked inside to see the girl, Kaia, being tended to by a nurse. To her surprise, she was clutching a baby to her chest. Odd. Jody hadn’t mentioned a baby. 

Kaia looked up, and their eyes met. She felt a shock go down her spine. The mug shots didn’t do Kaia justice; yes, she had the shoulder-length dark hair and the brown eyes, but the photos didn’t capture the wise, knowing, almost otherworldly look in her eyes. 

The nurse walked away from Kaia’s bed and Claire ducked away so that she wouldn’t be noticed. She waited until the nurse was far enough away, then entered the room. 

The girl was on the floor, pulling her clothing from a box under the bedside table. 

“Where are you going?” Claire asked. 

Kaia turned to her, glaring suspiciously. Claire smirked at her. The baby just sat on the bed and cooed. She turned back to the bag of clothing and started pulling on a sweatshirt. 

“Hey, I get it,” Claire continued. So the girl didn’t want to talk, fine. “If I had the cops on my ass, I’d be racing outta Dodge, too.” 

The girl looked up at that. “Who are you?” 

“I’m a friend of Sam and Dean Winchester.” Kaia stood, looking frightened. “And I think you know them too.” 

“Leave me alone.” She walked swiftly out of the room, shoving a rolling table between them. 

“Hey!” She seriously just… left this kid? And why did the kid look familiar? Claire grabbed the kid and raced after Kaia. She was fast, especially for someone reported to have a concussion. 

When she caught up with her, she was already in the parking lot. But she wasn’t alone. 

Some sort of creature with glowing red eyes was shrieking and growling at Kaia. Claire shoved the baby into her arms and grabbed her sliver-plated pocket knife. It wasn’t very large, but she’d fought plenty of monsters with it. She leapt at the monster, burying the blade in its chest, but it flung her into the side of a dumpster. 

Before she could get back to her feet, she heard a gunshot. Blue liquid poured from the monster’s leg. Jody. The monster turned toward her, but Claire was up and stabbing up through its chin before it could do anything else. It screeched and gagged up more blue liquid before falling limply to the concrete. She pulled the knife out with a satisfying squish, and turned to Kaia and the baby. 

“So let’s talk.” 

***

Kaia sat curled up on the front porch step. She wanted nothing more than to leave these people, but when she’d called her cousin on Claire’s phone, he told her not to come to him. Said he wouldn’t take her in until she was a year clean. 

Asshole. 

The monster’s red eyes flashed through her mind. How had it gotten here? It could only get through if there was a portal….

She snapped her head to the side when she heard footsteps. It was the blonde girl, Claire. 

“You’ve seen one of those things before, huh?” she asked, settling next to her on the step. 

Kaia nodded. “In my dreams.” Somehow, she found herself making eye contact with Claire without immediately looking away. Something about her felt… well, trustworthy. “And not just one of them,” she continued, “those things, they travel in packs. They pick up your scent and they don’t stop.” 

Claire nodded. “So you fight them.” 

“Fight? No.” How could she make Claire understand? Sure, the girl had taken on one, but she’d be no match for a pack of them. “I run.” 

Claire just looked at her, no judgement on her face. No pity, either. 

“But,” she continued, looking away, “sometimes, they catch me.” 

“Is that how you got that?” Claire asked. She gestured to the wound on Kaia’s arm. 

She pulled her sleeve over the injury. “I’ve got others, all over.” She wrapped her hoodie tighter around herself. Why was she telling her this? The girl was only going to pity her. 

“Me too.” Kaia glanced over to see Claire unzipping her jeans to reveal a scarred-over bite mark on her ankle. “Ghoul bite.” The crazy blonde looked proud of it. Kaia couldn’t help but smile. She lifted her jacket to reveal another large and jagged scar on her shoulder. “Bar fight with a vampire. He threw me through a window.” She looked back at Kaia, as if for approval, and Kaia felt herself blush. She looked away. Now was not the time to be getting a stupid schoolgirl crush. Still…. 

She reached up and brushed her finger lightly over a very faint scar on Claire’s forehead. It sent an electric current shooting up her arm. “And this one?” 

Claire smiled, looking embarrassed. “Um… heroic battle with a doorknob. I tripped.” 

Kaia found herself giggling. Despite everything, she was sitting here, crushing on a pretty girl and giggling over past scars. They sat in silence, both glancing over at each other sheepishly. 

“Kaia?” Claire’s voice had taken on a much more serious tone. “What happened?” 

***

Patience watched as Alex unzipped the body bag, revealing the most grotesque thing she’d ever seen in real life. Sure, these things existed in horror movies, but real life? No way. 

She bounced the baby in her arms, wondering if he should even be in here. Kaia had said that the kid’s name was Jack, and that he was the Winchesters’ kid. Claire had called Castiel, but he said he was busy with a case. So, Patience was on babysitting duty. She had babysat the neighborhood children before, so she was the most qualified of the girls, but she wished she could be of more use to the hunt. 

“Oh, dude,” she groaned. The thing was pale and sickly, with a metal mask where a human would have a nose and mouth. 

“What’s under the mask?” Jody asked. 

Patience didn’t want to know. 

Alex snapped on a glove. “Let’s find out.” 

She grabbed the creatures mask and pulled on it. The squelching sound was horrific. Even more horrific was the creature’s face. 

“Oh god.” She turned Jack away. The kid did not need to have nightmares about that. 

“Don’t scream,” Alex snarked, smirking. 

It looked like short stubby fingerlike tentacles where the mouth and nose should have been. 

Claire and Kaia entered the garage, stopping short when they saw the monster corpse. 

“What is that?” Patience asked. 

“I don’t know,” Jody replied softly. 

“She does,” Claire said, gesturing to Kaia. The girl lurked in the doorway, although Patience couldn’t tell if she was more afraid of the horrific corpse or the motley crew of hunters. 

Kaia looked at Claire nervously. 

“It’s okay,” she said softly, “you can tell.” 

“Uh, I’m a dreamwalker,” Kaia explained. “It means that when I sleep, I see this other world… this other dimension.” 

“Seriously?” Patience refused to take her eyes off of Kaia as she heard the squelching sounds of Alex messing with the corpse. Besides, it kind of sounded like dreamwalking wasn’t too dissimilar to being psychic. 

Kaia nodded. “The Bad Place. It’s where that came from. Your friends Sam and Dean, they wanted me to help them open a door to another world. And we did, but something went wrong.” 

“Okay,” Jody said, shockingly calm for the situation, “so then how did this thing end up here?” 

They all looked at each other, coming to the same realization at the same time. 

“The door’s still open,” Claire said aloud. Patience did not like the idea of that at all. “If we find it, we find Sam and Dean.” 

“No,” Kaia said, her voice full of fear. They all turned to her. “If they’re there, they’re already dead.” 

***

Sam stared at the lizard roasting over the tiny campfire Dean had built. He wrinkled his nose as Dean took a large piece and shoved it in his mouth. His brother chewed thoughtfully for a moment, then shrugged. 

“No, no, don’t tell me it tastes like chicken,” Sam groaned. 

Dean glared at him. “No, Sam, it’s a lizard. It tastes like lizard.” 

Sam groaned again. He was hungry, sure, but he wasn’t lizard-level hungry. “We really gotta get moving, keep looking for that door.” 

Dean spat out a bone. “Yeah, if there is a door.” 

How could Dean be so calm if he thought there was no door? “Well, last time we opened one, it stayed open.” 

“Yeah, for a few hours.” Dean chewed on his lizard. “We’ve been here for what? Two days and change?” He exhaled sharply. “Look, man, I hope you’re right, but if you’re not, and we’re stuck here in this freaking monsterland? I mean, nobody back home even knows where to start looking for us.” 

No no no no no. “So what are you saying?” 

“I’m saying….” Dean didn’t seem to want to say it aloud either. “Eat up.” 

Sam grimaced at the lizard that Dean had cooked for him. Fortunately and unfortunately, they heard a roaring in the distance, accompanied by loud thudding. 

“That sound closer to you?” Dean asked nervously. 

“Yeah.” Sam listened for a moment. “What do you think it is?” 

“Let’s not find out.” Dean had a good point. They left the fire burning and continued through the woods. 

After a long time of just walking and thinking (and Dean eating his disgusting lizard), Sam spoke. 

“Dean, I don’t think this is just a different world. I think it’s a different universe.” 

“Yeah, well,” Dean shot back, unfazed, “this universe sucks.” Dean stopped to lean against a tree and pull something from the bottom of his boot. Sam didn’t want to know what could possibly be on the underside of his boots; he knew it couldn’t be sanitary. 

Something snapped a large stick ahead of them, and both brothers stood up straight. 

“What was that?” Dean asked. 

He must have felt eyes on the back of his head too, because he and Dean both turned around at the same time. Behind them was a black hooded figure with a spear, much shorter than the both of them. 

It moved with lightning speed, taking out Sam’s knees from beneath him and knocking him out when he attempted to rise again. 

***

Alex leaned against the doorframe of Patience’s– or rather, Claire’s– room, watching her fold clothes and tuck them into her duffel bag. 

“So… you’re leaving?” 

Patience turned to her and sighed. “If I go now, maybe my dad will take me back.” 

Alex watched her pack for another moment. “Is that what you want?” She understood the appeal of having a normal life, doing what everyone tells you to want, but she also knew the rewards of disregarding it entirely for what you want to do. “To got back home, pretend you’re Little Miss Perfect and not a powerful psychic?” 

Patience sighed. “This is just… all way too freaky. I mean, your mom’s out burying a monster in the backyard.” 

“Well, you gotta bury him somewhere.” Patience had a point, though. 

“I came here to tell Jody about my vision, and Claire just blew it off. And I am not a fighter. I can’t even imagine going up against one of those… things.” 

“You don’t have to be a fighter,” Alex argued. “I’m not. Not really. You know, we help in other ways.” Alex knew that she was an integral part of this dysfunctional family; she cared for them. It was what she was good at. It was all she’d ever known. 

“I’m sorry,” Patience said, zipping up her bag, “I can’t do this.” Alex watched as she got up to leave the room. 

She stopped in her tracks and dropped her duffel. Alex jumped up. Her eyes were glassed over. Another vision. She gasped as the vision ended, then raced down the stairs. Alex followed her. Claire and Kaia looked up from playing with Claire’s plush Grumpy Cat with Jack. 

“We have to go,” Patience announced, “now.” 

“What?” Claire replied blankly. 

“Those monsters, they’re coming. Lots of them.” 

“They’re after me,” Kaia said, standing. She looked just as fearful as Patience. 

“Then we should stay and fight,” Claire said fiercely. 

“There’s too many,” Patience said fearfully, “they’ll kill us.” 

“Maybe,” Claire said, getting up in Patience’s face, “maybe not.” 

“Look,” Patience shot back, rising to Claire’s challenge, “I gave up a lot to come here, to do what was right, to save you.” Alex was impressed. The new girl could fight when she needed to. “You wanna brush that off? You wanna think I’m fake? Fine. But I am telling you, right now, we’re all in danger.” 

Kaia reached out and laid her hand on Claire’s arm. “Claire….” 

That seemed to sway Claire. Within minutes, they had grabbed Jack and as much weaponry as they could, and were on the road, Alex and Jack in Jody’s sudan and Claire and Kaia in Patience’s Jeep. 

***

It was morning by the time they stopped. Jody figured that Patience could use a break driving. She sure could, anyway. They pulled into an empty lot behind an abandoned warehouse. 

“Why are we stopping?” Kaia asked as she got out of the Jeep. Despite her only just arriving, Jody already felt responsible for her. She and Patience had already fit into their little dysfunctional family. 

“Figured we could all use a breather.” Jody adjusted Jack on her hip. He was surprisingly quiet. Kaia had explained how the kid had been suffering a fever, and his distress had caused the portal to open. But the kid was fine now, and he seemed entirely normal. She wished the Winchesters had introduced her to him before now. He was a cute kid. “And I called in some backup.” 

“Like what, the National Guard?” Patience snarked good-humoredly. 

Jody grinned. “Oh, better.” 

A car horn caught their attention. The girls watched as a tall black truck with a license plate reading “D-TRAIN” pulled up next to Patience’s Jeep. 

“Hiya ladies.” Donna hopped out of the truck in her cowgirl boots and fur-trimmed jacket and sunshiney smile. 

“Hey, Donna,” Alex greeted, walking over to give Donna a hug. 

“Okay, you too, Rainbow Brite,” Donna said, pointing to Claire. Jody watched as the angsty blonde grinned and ducked into the hug. 

“Patience, Kaia, this is Sheriff Donna Hanscum,” Jody said, “she’s, uh, killed a lot of vampires.” 

Donna tilted her head at Jody and grinned. “Ah, you know. I do what I do.” She glanced at Jack. “And who’s this little stinker?” 

“This is Jack,” Jody replied. Jack cooed at the mention of his name. “He’s the Winchesters’ kid. Half angel.” 

Donna squinted suspiciously, but made no comment. “Anyhoo, I brought the basics.” She walked around to the bed of her truck, opened the tailgate, and brought out a large bin full of guns, ammunition, machetes, wooden spikes, and more weaponry. 

“Why do you have all this?” Patience asked shakily. Poor girl was still new to the monster-hunting world. 

“I’m from Minnesota,” Donna said simply, grinning. 

“Kaia,” Jody said urgently, “where were you when this went down with Sam and Dean?” 

“I don’t know,” she replied, “We were heading north, from Lebanon, toward Sioux Falls. We were almost there, I think.” 

“Route 14,” Donna supplied. 

“We got run off the road,” Kaia continued. “We pulled into an abandoned boatyard. I didn’t see a sign.” 

“It’s the Larson Brothers Shipyard,” Alex announced. Jody glanced over and saw her tapping away at her phone. “Just off Route 14, shut down in ‘08.” 

“We’ll check it out,” Jody said, nodding to Donna. 

“Yeah,” Donna agreed. 

“Claire.” She passed the baby to Alex, then gestured at Claire to talk privately with her. 

“So, who knows how to use a flamethrower?” she heard Donna ask the other girls. 

She took a deep breath as Claire joined her. “Claire, I know you’re not gonna like this, but I need you to stay here to keep Jack and Kaia and the girls safe.” 

Claire just looked at her. 

“Just until we’ve checked things out, okay?” She was desperate to keep Claire out of this until absolutely necessary. After Patience’s vision….

Claire glanced over at the rest of the girls, then nodded slowly. “Okay, Jody.” 

Now it was Jody’s turn to just stare. 

“Go,” Claire urged. She didn’t look particularly happy, but it still shocked Jody to no end that she wasn’t trying to fight her on this. 

She supposed that was progress. Or fear of Patience’s vision. 

Either way, Jody climbed up into the passenger seat of Donna’s truck, and they drove to the shipyard. Donna parked a good distance away, with a good view to scout the place out. She was a good sheriff, Jody knew that for sure. 

“You think this is the place?” she asked. It was quiet. Nothing strange about it, as far as she could tell. 

“Oh, yeah,” Donna replied, peering through a pair of binoculars. She passed them to Jody, and pointed to what she had seen. “You betcha.” It was the Impala. Dean would never leave it unless he was in trouble. 

Donna pulled up closer, having seen no other monsters, and they made their way inside the large derelict ship, metal walkway clanking beneath them. 

Inside, there were skeletal wing marks scorched into the walls and angel blades melted into the floor. Jody and Donna walked slowly, guns pointing the way. 

Up above them, something caught Jody’s eye. 

Something through the door was glowing.


	10. Chapter 10

Claire sat in the back of Patience’s Jeep, watching Alex and Patience throwing rocks into the nearby river, trying to teach Jack how. The kid was cute, she had to admit. He still held onto her Grumpy Cat plushie. Though she wouldn’t admit it to anyone, she’d grown stupidly attached to the thing. It was like a good luck charm. 

A lot of good it would do her if Patience’s vision was right. 

“Room over there?” Claire looked up to see Kaia gesturing to the spot to her right. She adjusted her legs to give her room, and Kaia hoisted herself into the trunk. Claire just stared at her feet. Not only was Kaia’s presence giving her butterflies, but given that Patience was right about the monsters attacking the house, she couldn’t stop thinking about the one regarding her. 

“You’re scared.” 

Claire paused before answering. “Yeah.” No reason to lie. Besides, she trusted Kaia. “Jody always said I’d get myself killed. Hunting. And I’d be like, ‘good.’ I’m gonna go out, then that’s how I wanna do it, doing something great.” She looked back over at the other two girls and the baby. “But Patience’s vision… it’s one thing thinking that you’re gonna die. But actually knowing it?” She looked back over at Kaia. “For once, a part of me kinda just wants to sit back and let Jody handle it, you know? Stay safe.” 

Kaia nodded understandingly, and Claire looked away again. 

“But,” she continued, “Sam and Dean saved my life, and… I can’t sit this one out.” 

“Then don’t.” Claire turned toward Kaia. She found her eyes flicking to her lips involuntarily. 

“If you go,” Kaia said, her eyes also flicking momentarily downward, “I’ll go with you.” Claire’s stomach erupted with butterflies. “Maybe together, we can save them.” She wanted to kiss her, but now was not the time. Now was the time to fight. 

***

Donna led the way into the glowing room. There, floating above the floor, was a large glowing rip in the air. It crackled with energy. 

“Oof-ta,” Donna commented. Jody held back a comment stronger than ‘oof-ta.’ “There it is.” 

Jody stepped toward the portal. No time like the present to go after her friends. 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Donna said, grabbing her arm, “we’re gonna go back, right? You know, tell the girls?” 

Jody stared at the rip. No, she wouldn’t go back. She wouldn’t let Claire put herself in danger. “I’m going in.” 

“What now?” 

“If I don’t, she will.” She stared down the rift as if it were a sentient being. “Donna, I cannot lose another child.” She glanced over at her friend. Donna looked frightened, but understanding. 

Behind them came the sound of growling. 

“Jody,” Donna whispered. 

Jody pulled out her gun and stalked alongside Donna down the hall. Her heart pounded in her throat. She rounded a corner, then ducked back when she saw two of the hideous creatures rooting through debris on the floor. 

Donna gasped, and pressed herself against the wall next to Jody. “Jeez! Is that a…” 

“Yep,” Jody replied curtly. They listened to the creatures clattering and shrieking in the other room. Though she’d only seen two, she was sure there were more. Honestly, though, she didn’t want to find out just how many of them there were. She and Donna snuck silently back down the stairs. Adrenaline pumped through Jody’s body as they rounded corners and searched for another way out. 

All of a sudden, one shrieked at them from behind. In unison, the women turned around and shot at the creature, but it continued to charge them. 

“Come on!” Jody yelled. They ran toward an open door, two furious monsters on their tail. 

***

Dean woke tied to a tree. His knees ached; somehow he’d been stood upright. He looked around, and saw Sam to his right, still unconscious. 

“Sam,” he said urgently. No response. “Sammy!” 

At that, Sam inhaled sharply and began to straighten up, shaking off his delirium. He pulled uselessly against the ropes that bound his wrists. 

“What happened?” 

Dean didn’t know how to respond to his little brother, but something else caught his attention. The hooded figure was back, stalking through the trees toward an ape-like skull that stood nearly as tall as the figure. It was still carrying the spear. Now Dean could see that it was forked. 

“Hey yo! Darth Dickwad!” he yelled, trying to sound more threatening than he really was, seeing as he was tied up. 

Without a word, the hooded figure clanged its spear three times against the skull. It clanged like a bell, ringing through the forest. Then it stalked away. 

“The hell?” 

“What was that all about?” 

A roar in the distance answered their question. Dean glanced down, taking in all the bones scattered around them. That confirmed it. 

“I think it just rang the dinner bell,” he said. 

***

For what might have been hours, Jody and Donna had hidden in a ratty old car, listening to the monsters shrieking outside. Each woman had her gun aimed out the opposite window. 

One of the creatures bumped up against the car, rocking them, and it shot even more adrenaline through Jody’s body. She watched as it dragged a hand across the window above Donna’s head before moving around and thudding up against the hood of the car. 

“We make a run for the truck, we’re dead,” Donna whispered. 

“We stay here, we’re dead,” Jody replied. 

Donna shrugged awkwardly from her position, squished up against the car door. “All righty, then.” 

Suddenly, one of the creatures leapt on top of the car. Without any further words, Donna shot through the roof, and Jody heard it shriek and jump away. As it turned to attack the car again, it was engulfed in flames. It roared in agony, then fell quiet. Jody and Donna jumped out of the car, ready to tackle the newest threat. 

There stood Claire with Donna’s flamethrower. 

“I called. You didn’t answer.” She shrugged. “We worried.” Alex, Kaia, and Patience stood behind her. Jack waved jovially from Alex’s arms. 

“Where’s the other one?” Donna asked. 

“There’s another one?” Patience asked, her eyes widening. 

“Probably bolted,” Claire said. She looked up at the glowing doorway on the upper deck, then turned to Jody. “Is that the door?” 

“Claire–” 

But she was already bolting toward the stairs, Kaia hot on her tail. Jody sprinted after her, her heart pounding in her throat. 

“Claire, please, wait!” She froze when she entered the room with the portal. The tear was thinner, dimmer, crackled less enthusiastically. “Oh, hell.” 

“What?” Kaia asked, fear coloring her voice. 

“It’s getting smaller. It’s closing.” 

Claire was already advancing on the rift, her hand held out in front of her. 

“No, Claire, wait!” 

“Jody, I know you’re trying to protect me, but I need to save Sam and Dean, and you have to let me.” 

Jody’s heart sunk in her chest, but she attempted at a brave smile. “I know.” 

Claire froze for a moment, clearly not expecting that response. Somehow, in that moment, Jody felt that they understood each other. 

“Go.” 

Claire turned to Kaia and offered her hand. 

“I’ll protect you,” she said. 

Kaia glanced nervously at the rift, then took Claire’s hand. Jody watched as she reached out a hand, and slowly and deliberately stepped toward the portal. They disappeared in a bright flash of light. 

***

Patience watched nervously as Donna loaded a shotgun with large red slugs. Alex was loading a handgun for herself, while Jack sat on the rusty tailgate of an abandoned truck, chewing on the ear of Claire’s Grumpy Cat. 

“You ever shot a gun before?” she asked. 

“No.” 

She cocked the gun, and passed it to her. “Okeydoke, here ya go. Aim in their general direction, relax, and squeeze.” She tried to take in this information, but the gun felt so heavy and foreign in her hands, it was hard to pay attention. “Squeeze.” She looked back up at Donna, certain that every little bit of nervousness showed on her face. “Don’t pull.” 

Before Patience could ask a single one of the hundred questions swirling through her head, a high pitched growl sounded behind Donna. 

“Oh, there he is,” she commented, racking her shotgun. However, as she took aim, more creatures stalked into view. There were at least seven, maybe more. 

“Upstairs!” Donna commanded. Alex grabbed Jack like a football and bolted. “Move!” Patience found herself running after Alex without even really meaning to. She heard Donna shooting at monsters but kept running until they reached a branch in the stairway. 

“Jody!” Donna yelled, “a little help!” 

“Help!” she shrieked. 

The monsters were rushing up the narrow stairway. It should have been like shooting fish in a barrel, but they would not fall. 

“Come on!” Patience looked up and saw that Alex had set Jack on the floor and run up one of the branches of stairs, and was attempting to push a large filing cabinet down the stairs. Patience helped her turn it, then shoved it down the main stairway, into the throng of monsters. It caught between the stairs and the ceiling, blocking the way. 

“They’re gone?” Donna was talking to Jody, who looked a bit shaken. Alex shot at one of the monsters as it tried to squeeze its way around the barricade. 

Jody didn’t have time to answer before a loud thud in the room upstairs caught their attention. Patience hoisted Jack under her arm and the four women raced upstairs toward the source of the noise. Jack shrieked with laughter, as though this were a game. Patience hoped the Winchesters wouldn’t be angry with them for bringing Jack on a hunt. 

Donna led the way around the corner, shotgun at the ready. The room was empty. 

“All right,” Jody said, “anything gets in here, take it down.” She reloaded her handgun with a sharp click.   
Patience set Jack on a ratty old desk, and they formed a semicircle around him. She let out a shaky breath. 

“Hey,” Donna said encouragingly. Her bright smile somehow calmed Patience’s nerves. “You got this.” 

Patience nodded, though she disagreed. Like hell she got this. 

Ahead of them, the monsters’ growling echoed down the hall. 

“All right girls,” Jody said calmly. “Let’s go to work.” Donna racked her shotgun. 

As soon as the first monster appeared, Donna pulled the trigger. The explosion made Patience flinch. She and Jody both shot repeatedly until the creature fell to the floor, writhing. 

More and more of the creatures poured out of the hallway and fell to gunfire. One ran at her and Alex, and Patience fired the shotgun. It kicked hard into her hip, sending her stumbling backward. Alex took over, firing her handgun repeatedly until the thing fell. 

Another creature leapt directly at Patience. She shrieked and squeezed the trigger, and it fell to the ground, limp. 

She stared at it in disbelief. She’d killed a monster. Patience Turner had killed a monster. 

***

“You okay?” Claire asked, glancing back at the portal. 

“Yeah,” Kaia replied breathlessly. 

A loud growling noise brought Claire’s attention away from the rift. This place was dark, everything appeared to be bathed in blue light, and it looked like an old growth forest– the redwoods, maybe. 

Kaia grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the rift. “This way.” 

They ran hand in hand through the forest. Kaia ducked expertly between the trees, her grip on Claire’s hand never faltering. 

Suddenly, she saw them. The Winchesters had been tied to a pair of smaller trees near a large skull that Claire did not want to meet the living version of. They writhed and struggled against their restraints. Claire dropped Kaia’s hand and pulled out her knife. She cut the restraints from Dean’s wrists, and he grunted in surprise. Kaia ran to Sam’s aid. 

“Claire?” Dean said in disbelief. 

“Hey boys,” Claire greeted, smirking. She’d always wanted to say that, like she was better than them. In this instance, she certainly was. 

“My hero,” Dean shot back sarcastically. 

“Hey,” Sam said, shaking his head in disbelief, “how did you get here?” 

“The door,” she replied, “it’s still open.” 

“For now,” added Kaia. 

“Where’s Jack?” Sam asked. 

“With Alex and Jody and Donna and Patience. Probably.” 

The monster roared again from the not-so-distance before either of the Winchesters could comment on that. 

“Time to go,” Claire announced, turning and running back the way they came. The Winchesters followed closely behind. 

They sprinted the whole way, Kaia at Claire’s side. Through the forest, the fallen leaves soft beneath their feet. If there weren’t so many monsters here, Claire thought it could be beautiful. 

“There!” Kaia cried. 

They were almost there. Just a few yards to go. They stopped in front of the rift. It had grown even thinner. 

Behind them, a branch snapped. 

Claire turned too late. Kaia pushed her to the ground, and Claire heard the all-too-familiar sound of a blade sinking into flesh. Kaia fell beside her. Her face was blank, in shock with pain. A large double-bladed spear protruded from her stomach. 

She heard the Winchesters draw their weapons, but in this moment they didn't matter. Kaia tried to lift her head, but fell back, and instead reached out her hand. Claire took it, and watched as the life drained from Kaia’s eyes. The girl’s hand went limp and fell from hers. 

The world drifted away. 

All she could see was Kaia. 

Kaia, dead from the weapon that was meant for her. 

Kaia, dead. 

Vaguely, she could hear some creature roaring, some enormous footsteps shaking the ground, but she could only crouch over Kaia’s body. 

Suddenly, rage clouded her vision. She stood and turned to Kaia’s killer. It was a hooded figure, about the same height as her. She ran toward it, knife drawn. 

“No, Claire!” She felt Dean grab her by the arm. She tried to pull away. 

Kaia’s killer. She needed to avenge Kaia, kill her killer. 

“Come on, we gotta go!” Dean pulled her away and guided her toward the portal. 

A flash of light, and the Bad Place was gone. 

“No!” 

She fell to the ground, her legs too weak to hold her upright. She felt Jody take her into her arms and card her hands through her hair. All she could do was sob, burying her face into Jody’s chest. 

Kaia was dead. She had promised to protect her, and she was dead. She had died in the very place she feared. Died to save Claire. 

It wasn’t fair. It was supposed to be her. Patience had predicted her death, not Kaia’s. 

Jody rocked her gently. She could barely hold her head up on her own. Her grief weighed on her like nothing she’d ever known. 

She had loved Kaia. 

And now she’d never get the chance to tell her. 

***

Dean carried Jack out of the Mills’ wrecked house. The kid had (begrudgingly) returned Grumpy Cat to its rightful owner, and was now chewing on the lapel of Dean’s jacket. 

“You know,” he said to Jody, “I tried talking to her.” 

“Yeah, she, uh,” Sam cleared his throat apologetically, “she seems pretty shut down.” 

“Claire’s gonna need a lot of time,” Jody replied softly, opening the back door of the Impala so Dean could strap Jack into his seat. 

“Well.” Sam sighed. “When she is ready to hear it…” 

“You tell her thank you from us,” Dean finished, done securing Jack. 

“Jody, that rift was open for a while,” Sam said, “more of those things may have come through.” 

“We’ve seen some freaks, but over there, that’s a whole new world of bad.” 

“We will handle it,” Jody replied firmly. She attempted a smile. “Come on. You guys take care of the world. We’ve got Sioux Falls covered.” 

“Damn right you do,” Dean replied. He pulled Jody in for a hug, then turned to the drivers’ side door while Sam got his hug. Jody waved as they drove away. 

***

Claire sat on her bed, just letting the tears drip down her face. No use trying to stop them. 

“Hey.” Jody had entered the room. “Claire….” 

“You were right,” she said. She had gotten Kaia killed. This was her fault. 

“This isn’t on you, not all of it.” 

“No.” 

“I told you to go.” 

Claire turned to Jody. “I didn’t even think.” She didn’t care that her voice broke. “I just raced in. No plan. I said I’d protect her.” She paused, letting more tears fall. “I get it now. Why you are the way you are with me.” Her throat closed up, but she needed to get the words out. Tell Jody that she understood. “Because of the… this feeling.” 

She felt empty. Barren. Burnt from the inside out. Like everything had been drained from her being. 

She loved Kaia. She failed Kaia. 

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Jody said. Claire couldn’t bear to look at her. “When you’re ready, if you want… we’re all here for you.” 

Claire nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She listened as Jody left the room to help the rest of the girls with the cleanup efforts. She’d join them in a few minutes. As soon as she could stop the tears. 

***

“I killed a monster.” 

Alex looked up from sweeping broken glass. Patience was standing still, her dustpan held over the garbage can. She looked over at Donna, who was duct-taping plastic sheets over the windows. She grinned at her, and the both began to laugh. 

“What?” Patience asked nervously. 

“Welcome to the family,” Alex replied. 

Jody entered the room, and nodded at them. So Claire wasn’t about to run into the nearest vamp nest and take herself out. Good. She liked her crazy sort-of-sister, despite all the fights they got into. 

Alex and Patience finished clearing the floors while Jody set the table and microwaved leftovers. They were digging into their meal when Claire came downstairs, her eyes still red and puffy. She offered the ladies at the table a small smile, and slid into the chair next to Alex. She knocked her knee against Claire’s and passed her the tupperware full of mashed potatoes. 

This was her family. It was an odd one, but it was hers, and she would take care of it. That’s what she was good at. 

***

Claire tossed and turned. She couldn’t sleep. She had so much on her mind that she needed to get out. She sat up and pulled her hunting journal from the bag sitting next to her on the floor. She began to write. 

‘I came back to Sioux Falls to save Sam and Dean Winchester. And I did.’ She paused, then scratched it out. ‘We did.’ 

‘But the thing that killed Kaia is still out there. And I don’t care if I have to tear another hole in the universe. We’re going to find it. And I’m going to kill it.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope my readers enjoyed the switch in POVs to the various wayward girls, now back to our regularly scheduled programming of team free will...


	11. Chapter 11

Dean sighed heavily. Voicemail again. What the hell was Cas doing that he couldn’t come home for two and a half weeks straight? Anger bubbled through him. 

“You’ve reached my voicemail. Make your voice… a mail.” 

“Cas,” Dean growled with frustration, “you know, for someone who was so upset about missing out on Jack’s life, you seem pretty set on missing a hell of a lot more.” He knew it was a low blow, but fucking hell, Cas had been gone for far too long. He could take a little bit of verbal abuse. “Just come home, man. We’re getting close to being able to get Mom back. Just… call me back.” He couldn’t explain the empty feeling in his stomach as he hung up the phone. Mulling it over would do no good, he thought to himself as he tapped his phone against the foam-tiled floor. 

He had lied; they weren’t anywhere near close to getting Mom back. But Jack (and sure, Dean too) missed the angel. 

Jack stared at him from across his oasis of Hot Wheels. He sucked thoughtfully at his pacifier, then crawled over to his crib. Dean watched as he very unsteadily pulled himself to his feet, reached between the wooden slats, and pulled out a plush dog that Dean had picked up from the corner store the other day. He sat himself back down on the floor, then crawled over to Dean, pulling himself into his lap. 

Dean smiled softly. “What, you want some cuddles, big guy?” 

Jack babbled incoherently in return. 

“I don’t know what that means, but I’m sure it was very smart.” 

The baby simply hummed back, grabbing onto Dean’s shirt and nestling into his side. 

“I could use a breath of fresh air,” Dean said, hoisting Jack up to carry him and pushing himself off the floor. “Maybe you can help Sam with his research.” He grabbed a few toy cars to keep the kid busy in the library, and carried him out of the room. 

Sam was hunched over a collection of books, ones that he said all had mentions or more of alternate realities. Dean did not envy him the headache he was likely causing himself. 

“Find anything?” he asked. 

“Not yet,” Sam replied. 

“Damn. Well, you’re back on dad duty, I’m making a beer run.” He heard Sam scoff behind him as he set Jack and his toys down on a blanket and walked swiftly out of the room, grabbing his keys on the way out. Maybe his brother would allow himself a break to play with the kid or something. Jack was in a good mood today, sitting up on his chubby legs like a little Buddha statue. That is, if Buddha wore green and blue striped onesies. 

As he slid into the driver’s seat, Dean wondered again where Cas could have run off to. When he did pick up the phone, he said he was working on a lead, but he never gave any details, claiming it was too sensitive to say over the phone. Personally, Dean thought it was bullshit, but who knew what the angel got up to when he was away from the bunker? 

***

Though it shouldn’t have affected him, the cold of the stone wall behind Cas seeped into his vessel and chilled his bones. He wished he knew how long he’d been in this cell. At least a week, certainly. He hoped that the Winchesters were coming for him. Then again, Asmodeus was a fearsome enemy; he knew how to cover his tracks. 

He listened to Lucifer squabbling with one of the guard demons in the other cell. Would the archangel ever just shut up? 

“You’re not nice, and I don’t like you!” Lucifer yelled. “You’re treating me like an everyday angel, and if I had just a little more power I could tear this place apart!” 

“You don’t have that power, and they know it,” Cas quipped. Might as well taunt the devil; he had nothing better to do. 

“Okay, well if somebody would be a pal and let me eat a little bit of his grace, I would have enough strength to get out of here and butcher that son of a bitch!” 

Cas rested his head against the stone wall behind him. “Well that’s a nice, horrifying plan. A little cannibalism?” As much as he wanted out, to return to Jack and Sam and Dean, he would not sink so low as to supply Lucifer with power. Not again, not after he let him use his vessel in the fight against Amara. 

“Really?” Lucifer shot back, “I seem to remember a certain somebody snacking on angel grace once upon a time.” 

Cas pursed his lips. Yeah, maybe that wasn’t the best comeback. 

“There is no ‘I’ in ‘team,’ Castiel, I want you to remember that.” 

Cas remained silent. Lucifer was impatient, if nothing else. The Winchesters would get him out. Although, maybe that was Asmodeus’ plan. The thought soured his mouth. 

“Fine,” Lucifer continued, “I can wait. Asmodeus was my weakest creation.” 

“Oh, he was, was he?” Cas mused, “He doesn’t seem that weak to me.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lucifer replied, irritation plain in his voice, “that whole shape-shifty thing he does? I didn’t give him that. But so what? The old dog’s learned some new tricks. Eventually, he’s gonna mess up, and then he’s mine, okay?” 

“Excuses aside,” Cas quipped, “you’re saying that you’re too weak to overcome even your weakest creation?” 

There was a long pause from the entity in the other cell. “Shut up.” 

Cas smiled to himself. If nothing else, he felt some satisfaction at being able to get under the devil’s skin. 

“He learned it from me.” 

The new voice startled Cas. He had assumed the cell to his other side was empty. He stood from the stone bench and walked toward the bars, trying to peek around the corner without touching the bars. It wasn’t working. 

“Who are you?” he asked warily. 

“What, you don’t recognize your favorite big brother’s voice?” 

It hit Cas like a banishing sigil. “Gabriel?” 

***

Sam looked up as Dean walked into the room, set down the six pack, and made a beeline for the drawers full of cursed objects and dark spellbooks. He stood, holding a large tome wrapped in white cloth, and set it on the table before removing the cloth. 

“Uh, Dean, what are you doing with the Black Grimoire?” Sam asked. Something was definitely off. He glanced over at Jack, who was rolling a miniature Impala back and forth across his blanket. 

Dean looked up at him. His eyes were bloodshot. “I need to bring it to her.” 

Sam’s mouth went dry. “‘Her?’ Who are you talking about?” 

“Her. She told me to bring it to the market. I have to bring it to her.” Dean took the book and walked swiftly out of the library and back down toward the garage. 

“Son of a bitch,” Sam muttered. He scooped Jack up into his arms. 

Where the hell was Dean going? His brother was going to get himself killed, and by some witch’s curse. He strapped a rather unhappy Jack into his car seat in Cas’ truck, and drove as fast as he could to the grocery store. When he arrived, he spotted two young blonde women standing near Dean. One held a large sledgehammer in her hands. 

“Get away from him!” Sam yelled, pulling a gun from his waistband. The two girls smirked at him. 

Without a word, Dean strode forward and slapped the gun out of Sam’s hand, then threw him against the hood of the truck. 

“Dean, stop!” But his brother was fighting him as though possessed. He managed to get Sam in a headlock while he desperately searched his pockets for the hex bag. When he found it in Dean’s pocket, he threw it to the ground, but Dean continued to choke him out. Sam’s vision began to blur. 

All of a sudden, a flash of purple lightning engulfed the brothers. Dean jumped away, and Sam gasped air down his freed throat. His ears barely registered the sound of heels clicking toward them. 

Sam looked up to see a familiar face. 

“Hello, boys,” Rowena drawled in her Scottish accent. 

***

“Gabriel, how are you alive?” Cas hissed through the bars. 

The archangel laughed hollowly. “You think Luci really got me? Please. He may have taught me the art of the trickster, but I perfected it.” 

“Who the hell are you talking to?” Lucifer asked petulantly from the other end of Cas’ cell. 

“Oh, hey Luci!” Gabriel quipped in a singsong voice. 

“Gabriel?” 

“Your favorite little brother!” 

“But I killed you!” 

“Yeah,” Cas snarked, “you don’t seem to be as skilled at that as you think.” 

Lucifer scoffed, and Cas heard him pacing in his cell. The guard demon stalked toward his cell again, and Cas backed away to sit on his bench again. 

The demon stopped in front of Cas’ cell. “Don’t think we forgot about you,” they teased. Cas glared at them. “When the boss gets back, big plans for you.” 

Cas remained silent as the demon chuckled and continued down the hall. Big plans? That could only mean one thing: Asmodeus was trying to use him against the Winchesters and Jack. 

“Oh, does he have big plans?” Lucifer scoffed. “What’s that gonna be worth when Michael gets here and, oh yeah, murders us all?” 

“Right, if he gets here,” Cas muttered. 

“There’s no ‘if’ here in this equation, okay?” Lucifer shot back. “Let me just tell you something about my dick brother, about every version of my dick brother, okay? When he decides to do something, he does it. Doesn’t matter what the cost, or who has to die. It is gonna happen, ‘cause that’s just the way he rolls.” Cas reminsced briefly about his near-brush with the Apocalypse. Sounded about right to him. 

“If you’re right,” Cas replied, “how much time do we have?” If he was going to be stuck here with the devil, might as well get some intel. 

“How much time?” Lucifer echoed, “Oh, I guess that depends on how much time he spends torturing Mary Winchester.” 

A shock went through Cas’ vessel. Mary? Mary was still alive? Still alive, but being tortured by Michael himself? Cas wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or dismayed. 

“You liked her, right?” Lucifer teased mirthlessly. “Oh, Cas, you should’ve seen it. The things he did to her, I mean, in all my time in Hell, I have never seen anything that horrible.” 

This was just a ploy for Lucifer to get under his skin. “Stop,” Cas growled, “I don’t want to hear any more of your lies.” What was he thinking, trying to get under Lucifer’s skin like this? He should have known that he would only try to get back at him. 

“Oh, this coming from the angel who almost has me beat in that department, and that’s saying a lot, pal.” 

Cas refused to acknowledge the accusation. Sure, he’d done some awful things to Heaven, but it wasn’t as bad as what Lucifer had done… was it? “Well, you always say a lot,” he retorted weakly. 

“Okay, let’s face it, Cassandra, the truths I say hurt because they’re hard to swallow, so people call ‘em lies. Go figure.” 

Rage boiled through Cas. “You want truth?” He stood and walked toward the far end of his cell, toward the warded bars. “How about I tell you a few truths about your son?” 

“Did you just have an angel stroke?” Lucifer shot back. 

“Did you know that he loves hearing stories?” Cas continued, “Fantasy stories, with heroes who crush villains.” He was certain that Jack only loved those stories because Sam made funny voices while reading them, but how would Lucifer know the difference? It’s not like he was ever there for his son. 

Lucifer scoffed. “Well, that’s– that’s nurture. That’s not nature.” 

“He’s a very loving child,” Cas continued. “You know, he resurrected me, just out of instinct.” Lucifer was silent. “Isn’t that a beautiful gesture?” 

“Yeah, that’s, uh, that’s beautiful.” Cas could hear the archangel pacing in his cell. 

“Jack doesn’t know you from any other stranger.” Lucifer’s footsteps stopped. “He doesn’t even look like you. But he has his mother’s eyes.” 

He grinned as he heard Lucifer kick at the floor and let out a sharp exhale. 

“I’m not sure what’s going on,” Gabriel piped up, “but it honestly sounds safer to just wait it out down here.” Cas had almost forgotten about Gabriel. 

“Never thought you’d be one to give up like this, Gabriel,” Cas replied. 

“Yeah, well, a few years being used as a heroin source will do that to you.” 

Cas frowned. “What?” 

Gabriel scoffed. “What, you thought Asmodeus was holding me here just for the hell of it?” 

“He’s been eating your grace?” 

“Shooting it up with a needle, actually, but same diff.” 

Cas shook his head. “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, it’s not like you knew. But hey, I haven’t had a chance to catch up with the world above. I could use a nice conversation, even with Cas- “stick-up-his-ass” -tiel. Last I heard, the Apocalypse had been narrowly averted. What’s happened since?” 

***

Dean watched as Rowena poured three glasses of scotch, his head still a little bit fuzzy. He bounced Jack on his lap. The kid was fascinated by Rowena’s red hair. 

“Ask me,” the witch prompted. 

“How are you alive?” Dean asked, content to oblige her for now. Though he did not like the sight of an enemy-turned-reluctant-ally making herself so at home in their library. 

“Lucifer told us he killed you,” Sam added, “pretty, uh… pretty graphically.” 

“And he did,” Rowena conceded, “but I take precautions to ensure that if I die… it’s temporary.” 

“Are you talking about a resurrection spell, like last time?” Sam asked. He sure seemed to know his witchy stuff. 

Rowena turned around, scotch glasses in hand. She shrugged, smirking at Sam. “That said, it took a very long time to heal.” She set one of the glasses in front of Sam with a light thud, then passed the other to Dean. “And I’m not interested in it ever happening again, which is why I need the Black Grimoire.” 

“What a coincidence,” Dean quipped, leaving the glass on the table. Jack reached for the glass, and Dean pushed it away and rolled one of his Hot Wheels into reach. “You show up right when it gets stolen.” 

“Ach, no coincidence,” Rowena replied, picking up her own scotch glass. “I felt the book moving. In a moment of weakness, I may have put a tracking spell on the Grimoire behind your backs.” 

“Moment of weakness, huh?” 

“Why do you want it so bad?” Sam asked, ignoring Dean’s snark. “Why now?” 

Rowena sighed with exasperation. “Oh, years ago, the Grand Coven cast a binding spell limiting aspects of my magic.” She grimaced. “There’s a page in the Grimoire that may help.” 

“Help you become more powerful?” Dean spat, “yeah, that’s what we want.” 

“Help me protect myself,” Rowena corrected. 

“Let me get this straight,” Sam interjected, “you felt the book moving and you decided, what? You’d show up and just take it?” 

“Well, I thought about asking you nicely for it, but…” 

“Yeah, but you knew we’d tell you to go to Hell,” Dean finished for her. 

“Exactly.” Jack cooed at her, as though he were contributing to the conversation. “Now I’m– I’m worried the girls will damage the book, and you’re worried about the awful things they’ll do with it, so… let’s help each other, shall we?” 

“We don’t need your help,” Sam said before Dean could tell her to go to Hell. “We’ve handled witches before.” 

“Oh, you Winchesters,” Rowena tutted, “I’ve changed.” 

Dean just looked at her. She didn’t think they were stupid, did she? 

“Honestly,” she pressed. “Having your skull crushed and being burned alive can do that to a girl.” Dean did not want to picture it. He’d seen enough body horror in his lifetime. “And it’s my tracking spell, so, if you want to find those girls… you’ll need me.” 

Dean nodded reluctantly. Rowena was right. They did need her. 

“Good,” she said, tossing back her drink. “Now, do you want to tell me whose half-angel child this is?” She smirked knowingly. “Did someone finally get his head out of his arse?” 

Dean didn’t want to know what the hell that meant, nor how she knew that Jack was a nephilim. “This is Jack. Kelly Kline’s kid.” 

Rowena froze. “The son of Lucifer?” 

“Jack has never met his real dad,” Sam explained, “because we’ve been raising him.” 

“Raised by the Winchesters?” Rowena laughed. “The poor bairn is lucky to have survived this long.” 

“We’re not half bad at parenting,” Dean retorted, “And besides, you’re one to talk. Crowley had some choice things to say about your parenting style.” 

“Fine, fine,” Rowena replied, turning to pour herself another glass. “Speaking of… where is my son?” 

Dean’s mouth went dry. Sure, Crowley was a demon, but the dude wasn’t so bad, with his eccentric-uncle vibes. 

“He, um,” Sam stammered, obviously feeling sorry for the witch. Dean couldn’t bring himself to reflect such sentiments. “He’s dead.” 

Rowena went stiff all over. “Fergus is dead?” 

“Killed himself for us,” Dean supplied. 

“That doesn’t sound like him,” Rowena seethed. 

“Yeah, well, uh… Fergus… uh, Crowley, um… had changed a lot,” Sam replied. “You’d have been proud of him.” Dean doubted that greatly. 

“Is that so?” Rowena turned back to them. Dean felt a prickle of fear run down his spine. “Fergus was my only child.” Her voice broke. “And I promise you, I’d much rather have a living son, even one that hated me, than a dead hero!” 

“Because of him,” Sam offered, “Lucifer is trapped in another reality. So….” 

“So the Devil’s gone,” Dean finished. 

Rowena turned on him, her eyes filled with rage. “Don’t be stupid, he’s never gone!” Jack whined in discomfort and clutched at Dean’s shirt. 

“Okay, listen,” Sam interjected, “I know what Lucifer’s cap–” 

“Oh, can we not?” Rowena cut in, “It’s like reminiscing about an abusive relationship, why do that?” 

“Let’s get back to the book,” Dean said loudly. They did not need to be talking about emotions right now. “What kind of hurt can these chicks do with it?” 

Rowena sighed. “Oh, I’m sure they have big plans.” 

“Sounds like you know them,” Sam commented. 

“Oh, I just remember being a young, overly ambitious, wee witch,” Rowena drawled, “And I have to give them some credit.” She turned to Dean. “Outfoxed you, didn’t they?” 

Dean felt his neck heat up. He didn’t remember anything from the moment some blonde tried to flirt with him at the grocery store to waking up with his arm clenched around Sam’s throat. 

“Tell me,” Rowena said with a lowered voice, stalking closer to Dean, “did they get to fifth base?” 

Fifth base? “There’s no such thing as fifth base.” 

Rowena quirked up an eyebrow. “Oh, you poor, sheltered boy.” 

Dean looked over at Sam, hoping for an explanation. Sam just shot him a dubious look, as though he couldn’t believe Dean didn’t know what fifth base was. Dean thought for a moment. What the hell went beyond penetrative sex? Unless… oh. Okay. Yeah, he knew what fifth base was. Just didn’t know there was a distinction. 

“Anyway,” Rowena continued, “what’s by is by, and who knows? If I help you, maybe you’ll change your minds about helping me.” 

“No.” 

“Not happening.” 

Rowena grinned, as if she knew something they didn’t. 

Well… Dean supposed she did know more about witchcraft than them. Maybe they did need her. 

***

Cas watched with feigned disinterest as the guard demon stalked past his cell. He heard them pause in front of Lucifer’s cell. 

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” they quipped. 

A loud clanging sound resounded through the hallway. The demon gasped. Cas heard the wardings on Lucifer’s cell fizzle out. This was his chance. He slipped past his own bars, and watched Lucifer continue to strangle the demon. He yanked open the door to Gabriel’s cell and pulled the archangel out. He was clad in a filthy straightjacket covered in wardings. He’d have to deal with that later. 

“How… did you….” the demon groaned. 

“Turns out rage is a good motivator,” Lucifer growled, “and I think you forgot something. I’m Lucifer.” 

The Devil threw the demon aside, straight toward Cas. 

“Someone got mad and broke their warding,” Cas snarked. He lifted a hand, set it on the demon’s forehead, and smote them. The demon screamed before dropping to the floor, eyes burned out. 

He heard footsteps behind him, and turned. Four more demons, all wielding angel blades, were standing at the end of the hallway. 

Lucifer giggled mirthlessly. “Good times.” 

The first two demons rushed at Cas. He twisted the arm of the nearest one, easily tearing the blade from its hand. In the same motion, he stabbed the other demon in the stomach. It screamed and fell to the ground as Cas whirled around and killed the second one. Gabriel watched him, nodding with approval. 

Lucifer was having much less luck. He’d managed to drop one demon, but the second was a much more skilled fighter, and their blades clanged together harmoniously. Cas considered leaving the Devil here and running to the Winchesters immediately, but in that moment of pause, he managed to thrust his blade up through the demon’s chin. 

Wordlessly, Cas led the way down the hall and up through a door. Gabriel followed him, helpless in his straightjacket. The door opened up onto Earth, onto the front porch of some abandoned building. Always with the abandoned buildings. 

Lucifer leaned against a fence, panting. Was he really that low on power? 

“You okay there, bro?” Gabriel asked Lucifer. 

“Just gimme a sec,” Lucifer wheezed. 

“There’ll be more of them coming,” Cas urged as he cut the sleeves of Gabriel’s jacket. The archangel shook out his arms gratefully. 

“You know…” Lucifer replied, still out of breath, “this would be so much easier if I was stronger.” 

Cas ignored him. He would not give up an ounce of grace for the Devil. 

“Hint hint hint,” Lucifer probed. 

Cas turned and glared at him. 

“Oh, come on, Castiel,” the Devil whined, “we just fought side by side, mano e mano, you gotta trust me now, man. Come on.” 

“Oh, I trusted you,” Cas shot back, his lip curling, “when we fought the Darkness, and then you betrayed us. And I trusted you–” 

He was cut off as Lucifer leapt forward and sliced into Cas’ side with his angel blade. Cas grunted in pain as he leapt backward, just a moment in time to avoid being impaled by the Devil again. 

“You fooled me once,” Cas growled, circling Lucifer as he glared at the angel with red eyes. 

“I promise to leave you a little,” Lucifer said evenly, “come on.” 

Cas stepped forward, as though he were going to oblige his killer. At the last second, he stabbed upward, impaling the Devil on his blade. Lucifer groaned in pain as Cas whispered in his ear. 

“This is me, learning from my mistakes.” Maybe the wound wouldn’t kill him, but it would buy Cas time to return to the Winchesters and warn them that Lucifer had returned. 

He dropped the Devil to the ground and turned to Gabriel, trying not to show how badly he was hurt. 

“Come on. We’ll be safest when we’re back with the Winchesters.” 

Gabriel grinned. “Those guys are going to get so sick of me.” 

***

“How depressingly Midwestern,” Rowena quipped from the backseat as they pulled into the tiny, one-stoplight town. 

“All right, Red,” Dean muttered, “Where to?” 

“The tracking spell isn’t like GPS,” Rowena replied. “The book’s not moving, and it’s in this general area. We’ll need to speak to the yokels.” 

“Alright, well, small town folk usually like to look out for themselves,” Dean shot back. 

“I can make people talk,” Rowena drawled suggestively. 

“Uh, your spells tend to boil people’s brains,” Sam interjected, “so maybe let us handle it.” 

“Fine, fine, we can do your very time-consuming investigation.” 

“Okay,” Dean said, irritation plain in his voice, “see, ‘we’ aren’t doing anything.” 

“I’ll keep an eye on her,” Sam offered. He figured Dean and Rowena would kill each other if left alone in the car, regardless of whether or not Jack was napping in there with them. 

“Leave me with the babysitter if you must,” Rowena said in an almost sing-songy voice, “but do start with the women.” 

Dean turned to glare at her. Sam felt she probably had a point. 

“Something tells me those girls aren’t popular with the other ladies.” 

Sam turned to Dean and shrugged. Dean rolled his eyes, but appeared to agree. He exited the car, leaving Sam with the witch and the sleeping baby. 

They sat there for maybe fifteen minutes before Rowena broke the peace. 

“Well,” she sighed, “this is boring. Is there, I don’t know, music?” 

“Yeah, you know what? Dean has a tape of Led Zeppelin’s ‘Moby Dick’ with an eight minute drum solo. I’m sure it’s around here somewhere.” All he wanted was for Rowena to shut up so that Jack would remain asleep. He didn’t need a cranky post-nap baby to add to this pile of trouble. 

“Are you sure I can’t just enslave some townsfolk and make them take us to the girls?” 

“I’m very sure you can,” Sam shot back, “but I’m also very sure you shouldn’t.” 

“Bless your precious heart,” Rowena purred, “you just described my entire life.” 

Sam pursed his lips. Maybe they should just sit there quietly, but he was certain if there was another long, awkward silence, Rowena would do something to wake Jack, or worse, to speed up their operation. And besides, he needed to make it clear to her that she was not getting that book. “Rowena… even if you pull off whatever plan you’re trying to pull off, even if we manage to get the book back–” 

“I’ve been on my best behavior,” Rowena shot back. Jack stirred in his car seat. 

“Okay, sure.” Sam doubted that highly. “Let’s say you get the book. It’s not going to change anything.” 

She stared at him. Was it a low blow to psychoanalyze her like this? But then again, Sam had been in her shoes. She knew this. 

“You’re still gonna feel helpless. What Lucifer did to you–” 

“I told you, I don’t–” She sighed. Sam waited for her to speak again. “Before he crushed my skull, Lucifer showed me his face. His true face.” 

Sam felt the blood drain from his face. While he no longer had the majority of his memories from the Cage, he knew the effects of seeing such horrible things. He remembered Lucifer’s face. Being anywhere near the Devil made his heart race uncontrollably. 

“I’m scared, Sam,” Rowena whispered, her mask of cocky confidence gone. “All the time.” 

“I’ve seen it, too,” Sam replied softly, “what he really looks like behind… behind whatever vessel. It….” He didn’t want to revisit these memories, but Rowena looked so helpless. And seeing that from probably the most powerful witch on the planet frightened Sam more than he cared to admit. “Yeah, it still keeps me up at night.” He turned away from Rowena to stare out the windshield. 

“How do you deal with it?” Rowena asked quietly. 

Sam thought for a moment before answering. “I guess I don’t deal with it. Not really. I mean, I… I pushed it down and the world kept almost ending, so I keep pushing it down, and… I don’t know, I… I don’t really talk about it, not even with Dean.” He found it was good to talk about it with Rowena, though. Someone who understood. “I mean, I could. You know, he’d… he’d listen, but… that’s not something I really know how to share.” 

He looked back at Rowena. Her painted lower lip trembled slightly as she nodded. Jack began to whine as he woke up, and Sam took the opportunity to opt out of further conversation as he unbuckled the kid and transferred him to his lap. Jack blinked up at him blearily. 

“Even if you do get the book,” Sam said softly, “and even if you get your power back, it won’t matter.” He looked at her with sympathy. “You won’t ever be able to change what happened. You won’t be able to change how helpless you felt, or how helpless you feel. You’re still gonna get scared.” Rowena looked close to tears as she turned her head away from Sam. “And that feeling… that feeling never goes away.” Though he hated admitting it to someone who was, until very recently, more of an enemy than a friend, he was still scared of Lucifer. The Devil haunted his dreams, made him sprint to Jack’s room when he cried in the night, made his heart race for no good reason. 

“Never?” Rowena’s voice was small. 

“Never.” He held Jack closer. What would happen if the kid’s father came back? Nothing good, that was for certain. 

The car door creaked open. He whirled around to see Rowena exiting the car. Hoisting Jack up on his hip, he followed her. 

“Hey hey hey, where are you going? What are you doing?” 

“I just need a minute,” Rowena whined. “I’m not fleeing, don’t release the hounds.” She stopped a few paces from the car. 

“Hey,” Dean said. Sam turned to see him strolling through the parking lot. “What’s going on?” 

“Uh, she, uh, she just needs a minute, she’s all right,” Sam rambled. No way he was relaying the conversation they’d just had to his brother. 

Dean shrugged. “All right, well, I got the address. Rowena was right. These girls are not fan favorites.” 

Rowena walked back over to the brothers, heels clacking, and peered at the receipt that Dean pulled from his pocket. “Right. Time to get that book.” 

“Oh no no,” Dean said quickly, “you’ve done your bit, okay? We’ll take it from here.” 

“I was afraid you might say that,” Rowena replied, turning away. She dropped a large hex bag on the ground, yelled “Manete!” and clicked away across the pavement. Sam’s feet would not move. It appeared that neither would Dean’s. 

“Rowena!” Sam yelled, trying to maintain his balance so he wouldn’t drop Jack. He tried to lean down and grab the hex bag, but it was out of reach. They were well and truly stuck. 

“Take the baby,” Sam grunted, holding Jack out to Dean so he could get a better reach toward the hex bag. Dean barely managed to grab him before he slipped from Sam’s fingers. Jack seemed very entertained by the whole ordeal, and simply giggled. 

“Needed a minute, huh?” Dean quipped. 

Sam bent over and reached as far as he could. He could almost grab it. “You don’t have to say it, Dean.” 

“Oh, I’m gonna say it. She played you.” 

“She played us!” Sam shot back. Why couldn’t his arms have been just an inch or two longer? “And she’s scared.” Not that Dean would truly understand that part of the situation. 

“Yeah, well, she better be,” Dean grumbled. “Come on, you’re like eight feet tall, you can’t reach that?” 

Sam wanted to shoot back with some very strong words, but he figured it would be best if Jack didn’t hear those. “I almost got it.” His fingers brushed against the leather, and he managed to grab the loose end above the tie. “Okay, I got it, I got it.” 

Dean passed him his lighter, and Sam lit the bag on fire. Purple flames licked across it. He felt his feet unstick from the concrete. 

“All right,” Dean said, “let’s go kill some witches.” He quickly strapped Jack into his car seat (Sam wasn’t really sure if he was properly buckled, but he was too concerned with the witch problem to care) and slid behind the wheel. They sped out of the parking lot, and Sam ignored Dean’s occasional glares. 

***

Dean led the way into the house, gun at the ready. Something was pounding incessantly against some solid surface, and as he took in the room, he saw that it was a zombie with flyaway blonde hair. The two blondes that had cursed him at the grocery store were leaning over the Black Grimoire. 

“Rowena!” Dean called out. 

“Boys! Wonderful!” came the witch’s voice, muffled by the door that the zombie was attacking. “I’ve been stalling them until you arrived!” 

“Hey there, handsome,” one of the sisters said huskily. Her voice made Dean’s skin crawl. He cocked his gun in response. 

“Ooh, guns, scary,” the other quipped sarcastically. 

“Witch-killing bullets,” he shot back. 

The girls glanced at each other nervously, then yelled “Moveantur!” in unison, flinging the two brothers against the far wall. Goddamn, he was getting too old for this shit. All of his joints creaked as he attempted to push himself up from the floor. Thank Chuck they’d decided to leave Jack in the car. Not that he liked the idea of a baby unsupervised in the car, but it was better than some witches killing the kid. 

One of the sisters, he assumed the elder of the two, was onto him, wielding a knife. Dean grabbed her wrist before she could sink the blade into his chest, and twisted it away. But she was surprisingly strong for someone so small; she grabbed his throat and slammed him into the wall. He fought against her as she raised the knife again. 

“Sammy!” he yelled, straining through the woman’s grip, “they’re really weirdly strong!” Unfortunately, Sam had figured that out on his own, as the younger witch had pinned him to the floor, choking him out as well. 

“I think it’s probably a spell,” Sam groaned back. 

The girl on top of Sam laughed. “You think?” 

Dean could feel his vision starting to blur as a gunshot tore through the room. 

The girl went pale, turning towards something to Dean’s left. “Mom!” 

“Impetus Bestiarum!” cried Rowena from somewhere in the room. 

The girl dropped Dean, and he sank to the floor. Dean watched as her eyes began to bleed. His heart dropped. So this was how he’d die? At the hand of some amateur witch turned attack dog? 

She then turned to her sister and began attacking her. The younger sister did the same, and they both fell to the floor, bleeding from multiple wounds. 

Dean looked over at Rowena in shock. 

She chuckled, and picked up the Black Grimoire. “You really thought after all that, I was going to try to kill you?” She shuffled through its pages lightly. 

“Yeah,” Sam replied, “you double-crossed us.” 

“Triple-cross, actually.” Dean didn’t want to do the math on that. “So I ended up on your side, and we defeated the villains, just as I planned.” 

“Yeah, not buying that,” Sam shot back. 

“And that book?” Dean said, “You’re either gonna give it to us or we can take it, either way.” He did not want to deal with whatever schemes Rowena could see through with that book. 

Sam attempted to tug the book from her hands, and she looked up at him in… terror? What was that about? She whispered something to Sam. He thought he could make out the ‘Lucifer’ among it. Sam took the book, and they both watched grimly as Rowena rushed out of the house. 

***

“Hey, you know that Rowena is not our friend, right?” 

Sam looked over at Dean. They had been silent for most of the drive toward Lebanon, so that Jack would sleep through it. Thankfully he hadn’t been too upset about being left alone in the car. 

“Yeah, I know that.” Did Dean know about his conversation with her about Lucifer? He doubted it. Did he know about the page from the book? 

Dean hummed, and flipped open the Black Grimoire, which they had set on the bench seat between them. He revealed the missing page in the book. “Then what’s that?” 

Ah. Right. Sam remained silent. How could he explain it to Dean? Sam had his big brother to help him feel just a slight bit safer; Rowena had her powers. Knowing how she was feeling now, how could he let her suffer that kind of fear? 

“You gave her the page,” Dean said accusingly. “She got in your head, man.” 

“She didn’t get in my head.” 

“Look, what happened to Rowena was messed up, okay? But you just let the deadliest witch in the world walk away with a page from this book.” 

“Yeah,” Sam conceded, “and if Rowena breaks bad, I will hunt her down myself and put a bullet in her.” He hoped he’d never have to, but he would. “I will, Dean.” 

Dean shook his head with frustration. 

“But if she’s right,” Sam continued, “if she does see Lucifer again, then… I hope she makes him suffer.” He shuddered to think that Lucifer would ever return to Earth. 

“You gotta get out of this dark place, man,” Dean said quietly. “You know, whatever’s going on in your head….” 

“Dean.” He couldn’t possibly understand. No one else could. Except for Rowena. She’d seen his face. She understood. 

“What?” 

Sam inhaled deeply. “You know what? Honestly?” 

“Yeah, how ‘bout honestly.” 

“I know what Rowena is dealing with.” There. He said it. Unpacked his trauma right there in the Impala, exactly like Dean hated to do. “And she’d not the only one who… feels helpless.” He couldn’t bring himself to look up, look his brother in the eye. 

“What do you mean?” Dean asked softly. 

“I mean, I had a plan, you know. We were going to get Kaia to help us bring Mom back. But now Kaia is dead, and we have no real leads on opening this portal. Dean, we don’t have a plan.” 

“We’ll figure it out.” 

“How?!” How could Dean just sit there and drive as though they were still in their twenties, chasing down run-of-the-mill ghosts and vampires? 

“I don’t know.” 

The bare truth of it shocked Sam to his core. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything in response. 

“But we will, you and me.” 

“Yeah.” He knew that Dean had just as little hope as he did, but honestly, it made him feel just a little bit better, knowing that he and his brother were in the same boat on this. 

***

Cas stumbled through the forest, the wound in his side shooting pain through his entire body with every step. He coughed, and felt splatters of warm blood drip down his chin. They had been walking for nearly a day, and Cas knew that they were close to the bunker, but he wasn’t certain he would make it that far. His grace was working overtime, trying to stitch up the wound that he wouldn’t allow to rest. 

“You okay, little bro?” Gabriel asked. Concern leaked into his voice. 

“I’ll be–” Cas coughed again “–fine.” 

“You don’t sound fine.” Cas felt Gabriel snake an arm around him, lifting most of his weight off of his feet. “How much farther?” 

As if on cue, the light at the bunker entrance came into view. 

“There,” Cas gasped. He groaned as Gabriel quickened his pace, half-dragging him across the dead leaves. He felt his head begin to go fuzzy. Suddenly, Gabriel stopped in front of the door and pounded on it. Cas’ head throbbed harder and more painfully every time Gabriel’s fist connected with the metal. 

“Sonofa–” 

Cas fell forward, and felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him, breaking his fall. 

“Sammy!” It was Dean. Dean had him. He was safe. 

“Dean,” he groaned softly. 

“I’ve got you, hang on buddy,” Dean murmured back, adjusting his grip so he could drag Cas across the threshold and down the stairs. Cas let his head fall against Dean’s chest. 

“How the hell are you alive?” he heard Sam exclaim. 

“Long story,” Gabriel replied. 

“Sam, I need the first aid kit,” Dean snapped. His voice vibrated through Cas’ head. A few moments later, Cas felt himself being laid down on a bed. 

“Dean,” Cas wheezed. He had to warn him about Lucifer. 

“I’m here, don’t worry, just stay awake for me, okay?” 

Cas shook his head weakly. “Lucif–” he coughed. 

“It can wait, save your strength. Sammy!” 

Everything went dark.

***

“Claire, get up and check your phone.” 

Claire groaned and picked up the phone. Five thirty in the morning? 

“What the fuck, Alex?” 

“Read the damn article I sent you. You’ll thank me later. See you after work.” Claire wanted to throw some more curses at her damn nurse sister, but instead opened the notification as she was told. As soon as she read the headline, she sat bolt upright. 

“Black Cloaked Figure Suspect of Double Homicide Case.” 

Heart pounding, she skimmed the rest of the case details. Two bodies found in Kansas City. Cause of death: stab wounds. No correlation between the two victims. 

There was a photo of the suspect. No spear, but they were the right height and build. 

Claire leapt out of bed and ran to Jody’s room. 

“Jody!” she cried, startling the woman awake. She reached halfway for the gun on the nightstand before squinting at the bright screen in Claire’s hand. It took her several moments to wake up enough to process what Claire was showing her. 

“You think that’s the thing that…” she murmured. 

“Yes,” Claire replied. 

Jody inhaled deeply, fear apparent in her eyes. She probably assumed that Claire would be running off to fight this thing alone now.

“Will you help me?” 

Jody blinked in surprise. “Y-yes. Yes, of course I’ll help you.” As much as Claire itched to leave this very second, she knew that Jody’s help would be instrumental to this case. And she needed all the help she was going to get if she was going to avenge Kaia. 

“Can we leave today?” 

“Tomorrow.” Jody swallowed. “I need to give notice before I head out.” 

Claire nodded. Today would be a long day of hacking police databases and pacing the living room, but she could survive it. Hell, it was better than the blank white rooms in the disturbed youth centers she used to frequent. As an afterthought, she leaned forward and gave Jody a quick hug. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, then turned and half-jogged out of the room before she had to deal with Jody’s reaction.


	12. Chapter 12

Sam sat at the library table across from the somehow-still-alive archangel, sizing him up. Sure, the guy had supposedly died for him and his brother in their Apocalypse efforts, but looking at him now, he felt like he could hear that god-awful Asia song playing again. 

Gabriel just stared at Sam as he reached for the box of Cheerios that Sam had been giving to Jack. He shoved a handful in his mouth and grimaced. 

“This is disgusting.” 

“It’s healthy,” Sam shot back. 

“Can’t you treat the kid to some Froot Loops or something?” Gabriel snarked as he placed the cereal box back on the table and grabbed Sam’s trail mix. 

“Babies aren’t supposed to have too much sugar,” Sam replied. He watched with dismay as the archangel began to pick out all the M&Ms from the bag. 

“You think some sugar cereal is gonna put a dent in that Satan-spawn?” 

Sam bristled. “His name is Jack. And he’s our kid, and we’re going to raise him however we see fit.” 

“Alright, alright.” Gabriel put his hands up in mock surrender. He rocked backward in his chair and watched Jack, who was sitting on his blanket behind Sam. The kid was clumsily stacking blocks, knocking them over when they got four high. 

“So,” Sam started, “how are you alive?” 

“I’m the Trickster,” Gabriel said simply. 

Sam glared at him. 

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Okay, so when Lucifer stabbed me, it may or may not have actually killed me. I tricked him. Duh.” 

“And then, what, you’ve been Asmodeus’ bitch ever since?” 

The archangel scowled. “I spent a very fun near-decade hopping casinos before he got to me, I’ll have you know.” 

“I believe it. Ignoring multiple world-ending crises by burying yourself in booze and women.” 

Gabriel shrugged and popped a handful of M&Ms in his mouth. “There were some very handsome twinks involved too.” 

Sam decided to ignore that comment. “So how did Asmodeus capture you?” 

“Ever heard of the Lotus Casino?” 

“No.” 

“Hm, you wouldn’t, would you. You never have any fun.” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Get to the point, please.” 

“It’s run by some mythical being or another, honestly I forget what they are, something Greek, but they drug the hell out of you, and they caught me off guard. Turns out they were in league with Asmodeus, so they handed me over to him.” 

“So some Greek mythical beings roofied you?” 

Gabriel scowled. “You could put it that way.” He rooted around the bag of trail mix for a moment longer, then set it back on the table. 

“What did Asmodeus want with you?” 

The archangel’s scowl melted into something Sam could only describe as haunted. “He was shooting up my grace.” 

Sam recoiled in shock. “What?” 

Gabriel looked away. “He siphoned off my grace and hit up with it like some kind of junkie. Gave his powers an extra boost.” 

“So Asmodeus will be weaker now,” Sam said as the realization hit him. 

“I mean, I guess.” 

Sam smiled. “Well, that’s a little bit of good news, at least.” 

Gabriel grimaced. “Yeah, Asmodeus is not our biggest worry right now.” 

Ice ran through Sam’s veins. “What do you mean?” 

“Lucifer is back.” 

***

Dean clipped the thread of Cas’ last stitch, then stood and went to the bathroom to rinse off his hands. The amount of blood that Cas had lost was worrying. If he’d been human, he would probably be dead by now. 

When the water ran clear, he dried his hands and walked back into the bedroom. To his surprise, Cas was already trying to sit up. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Dean snapped, rushing over and pushing Cas back down by his bare shoulders. His fingertips tingled at the touch. Probably from the angel’s grace. “Cas, you gotta lay back, man, you’re really hurt.” He was also probably cold, what with his torso bare and bloody, but at the moment Dean was more concerned that he would pop his stitches. 

“But Lucifer–” 

“He’s gone, man, he’s stuck in Apocalypse World.” 

“No.” Cas groaned, and let Dean push him down onto the mattress. “No, he’s back. He got through.” 

Dean felt his blood run ice cold. “How?” 

“Kevin Tran.” 

“Jesus Christ.” So the Apocalypse World had a Kevin Tran, one that helped Lucifer return to this planet. Great. Dean grabbed a chair from the desk and sank onto it. He could already feel exhaustion creeping into his bones. “When was this?” 

“I don’t know,” Cas replied, his voice breathy and weak. “Asmodeus captured us while Jack was at the hospital.” 

“Cas, that was weeks ago.” Then it hit Dean. “I just talked to you on the phone, though, yesterday. How is that possible?” 

“Asmodeus had my phone.” Cas’ eyes were closed, but Dean could tell that he wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon, not with that gash in his side. 

“Son of a bitch,” Dean swore softly. He furrowed his brow. “What the hell did he want with you?” 

“I think he mostly wanted Lucifer, I just–” he coughed “–happened to be in proximity.” 

“I need to tell Sam,” Dean said, rising from his chair. He stopped when Cas grabbed onto his sleeve. 

The angel’s blue eyes were dull and full of fear. “Dean, Michael– other Michael– he’s trying to get through. He wants to conquer our world.” 

Dean sank back down onto the chair. This was too much. Apocalypse 2.0? Why couldn’t they seem to go a month without the world trying to end itself again? 

“That’s why I met with Lucifer,” Cas explained, his voice raspy and weak. 

“You stupid son of a bitch,” Dean whispered, though there was no bite to his words. 

“He was weak,” Cas wheezed defensively, “he said he wanted to help.” 

“Oh, yeah, Lucifer wanted to help,” Dean chided. “Cas, you know how these things end up.” 

Cas scoffed, but it came out ragged and mirthless. “I know better than you.” 

Dean smiled softly in an attempt to comfort his friend. “Yeah, you’d think that wisdom would make you smarter.” 

Cas sighed in return. “Well, he’s pretty harmless now.” 

Dean scoffed. “Is that so?” 

“I stabbed him. He didn’t get up.” 

“He’s dead?” 

“No. Just down.” 

The door behind him opened, and Dean turned to see Sam enter the room, panting heavily. 

“Dean– Lucifer–” 

“I know,” Dean replied, jumping out of his chair, “Cas told me.” 

“Dean, this is bad. If–” 

“Sam, we will deal with it. Right now, we need to help Cas get better.” He couldn’t remember the last time the angel had been so badly injured. It worried him. 

Sam glared at him. “Dean, this is Lucifer. We can’t wait on this.” 

“Yes, we can. Cas said he’s weak, we can set this on the back burner. Right now, we need to make sure we don’t lose Cas again, and we need to get Mom back.” 

“Dean–” 

“Sam. Please. Just– just make sure Gabriel doesn’t zap Jack into cartoon land or whatever.” 

Sam sighed. “Right. I’ll start working on some leads, too.” 

“Good.” Dean chuckled nervously. “I mean, if Kevin Tran can do it, surely we can.” Sam shook his head morosely and walked back down the hall. Dean turned back into the bedroom. 

Cas was laying there with his eyes closed, shivering slightly in the cold room. His wound was red and raw, and there was a trickle of blood snaking down onto the blanket. Dean took the already bloody washcloth from a bowl of pink stained water sitting on the floor next to the bed and wiped up the blood. Then he took a bandage, ripped open the package, and pressed it to the wound. Cas hissed with pain. 

“Sorry,” Dean mumbled, taking a roll of medical tape and ripping off a long strip with his teeth. He taped the bandage over the wound, then tossed the roll aside. 

Cas shivered again, Dean grabbed the blanket folded at the end of the mattress and laid it gently over the angel. He groaned as the rough material caught on the bandage. 

“Sorry,” Dean muttered, “you looked cold.” 

“I don’t get cold.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Dean wished he could help ease Cas’ pain, but he had no idea how much Advil was enough for an angel, and he wasn’t about to experiment and risk overdosing him. He gently laid the back of his hand across Cas’ forehead. He was hot and feverish. Dean stood and got a wet washcloth from the bathroom and laid it across his friend’s forehead. 

“Dean?” Cas croaked, opening his eyes and looking at Dean. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thank you.” 

Dean frowned. “For what?” 

“For healing me.” 

“You don’t need to thank me for that. You’re family, this is what family does.” He sighed. “Besides, it’s the least I can do for you after these past few weeks. I mean… all that time, talking to Asmodeus on the phone… I should have known it wasn’t you. I’m sorry.” 

“Well,” Cas replied softly, “he is a shapeshifter.” He coughed softly. “Besides, I’m the one who got myself captured.” 

“Yeah, but if Sam and I knew, we would’ve… we would’ve come for you.” 

“Then you’d’ve been the stupid ones.” The angel smiled, almost a grimace. “Besides, I’m fine.” 

Dean scoffed. “No, I’m fairly certain you’re not.” 

“Well, we have bigger concerns. Your mother….” 

Dean didn’t want to think about what was going on over in Apocalypse World. He patted Cas’ hand and stood. 

“Just get some rest. We’ll take care of it, just like we always do.” 

***

Sam sat in the library, watching Jack crawl around with a toy car. Gabriel had gone to take a shower. He was probably going to use up all the hot water. 

So Kevin Tran– other Kevin Tran– had been the one to open the portal. So that meant he used the tablet. Whether it was the angel tablet or the demon tablet was unknown, but they had a chance here; they had the demon tablet, all they needed was a prophet. He could call Donatello and have him come to the bunker and translate the thing, easy. Whether or not they had the necessary text was another story, but hell, they’d put more effort into longer shots. 

That left the issue of Lucifer. 

No. 

He wouldn’t think about that now. He couldn’t. Push it down, focus on the more pressing issue. Get Mom back. Do that, then deal with the Devil. Don’t let the fear consume him. 

First task: call Donatello. 

***

Donatello arrived the next day. Sam opened the bunker door for him, splashing a little bit of holy water on his sleeve as he entered. The prophet did not react. 

“How are you?” Dean called up to the prophet as he descended the stairs. 

“The usual,” Donatello grumbled, “Bewildered.” 

“Right. Cool,” Dean replied, unconcerned with Donatello’s response. “So here's the plan: we open a rift, get Mom out, slam the door before Michael gets through. And all that’s gonna be harder than it sounds.” 

“And so the spell to open this rift is in the angel tablet?” Donatello asked cautiously as he approached the map table. 

“Yes,” Sam replied, “uh, on Earth 2, except--” 

“Except we dont have the angel tablet anymore.” Sam turned to see Cas enter the war room in an old T-shirt and Jack on his hip. He had dark circles under his eyes. The angel was recovering very quickly from an injury of that magnitude by human standards, but slowly compared to how he had healed in the past. Sam wanted to ask him about it, but figured that now was not the time. 

“No,” Sam agreed, shaking away his thoughts, “but we do have the demon tablet.” He unwrapped the ancient stone sitting in the center of the table. Cas sank into a chair next to Dean, and turned Jack around so he could watch the events unfolding on the table in front of him. 

Donatello took the tablet and examined the runes carved into it. 

“We thought it might have the spell because it, too, is the word of God,” Cas supplied. 

“And,” Dean continued, “since you speak God, we figured it was right up your alley. So, give it a swing.” 

“These glyphs,” Donatello said in disbelief, “they’re nearly impenetrable.” 

“Okay, well, is there anything we can get you?” Sam offered. He knew it would be miserable for poor Donatello, but they needed that spell. 

“Chicken wings,” Donatello said simply. 

Dean stared at him like he’d asked for the original copy of the Mona Lisa. “Excuse me?” 

“Chicken wings,” Donatello repeated. “Heavy lifting like this requires real brain fuel.” 

Sam shrugged. If that was all it took, then a trip to KFC was well worth it. 

***

“You’re doing great, Donatello,” Sam said to the prophet, ten trips to KFC later. “I mean, it looks like you made a lot of progress.” There were notes sprawled all over the table, mostly unreadable, but still, it was something. 

“It's like pulling freaking teeth!” Donatello shrieked. 

Jack whimpered from his perch on Sam’s lap, but Donatello calmed down. 

“I’m working my way through the ingredients,” he said softly. 

“Right,” Sam said, still a little bit shocked by the outburst, “okay. But at least we know the spell we need is in there. And we have a plan.” 

Donatello grumbled incoherently, but leaned back down into his work. 

***

“All I wanted was to watch a movie in my own damn house!” Dean grumbled, settling on the bed next to Cas. 

Gabriel had taken up residence in what was formerly the “Dean Cave,” eating sweets and watching cartoons and porn all day and night on a large flat screen TV that Cas was almost certain he had stolen when they had sent him on a grocery run (he had not been allowed to buy groceries since, as he had taken it upon himself to buy only candy and pastries and soda). 

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas soothed, trying to adjust the pillows behind himself so he could sit more comfortably. His wound twinged painfully. That was not good. It had been multiple days since he’d recieved the injury; his grace should have healed it by now. The fact that it hadn’t was a bad sign. 

His lowered grace also meant he felt more human. Felt… more. 

Dean turned away from the laptop to help him. He laid one hand on Cas’ back while he fluffed the pillow. It sent shivers of electricity through him. Oddly enough, he physically shivered. 

“Are you cold?” Dean asked, concerned. 

“No,” Cas replied. 

“Dude, I felt you shivering,” Dean scolded, leaning over and picking up a flannel from the floor next to the bed. He pressed it into Cas’ hands. 

Cas shrugged the shirt on, figuring it was better to just oblige than to try to argue that he really wasn’t cold. 

Dean started the movie, some story about pirates. The music felt inspiring, and Cas found that he liked the drunk pirate. He even made him laugh a bit, though that wasn’t such a good thing with his stitches. And the romance story was rather beautiful. 

By the time the credits rolled and the laptop began to autoplay the next movie in the series, Dean had fallen asleep, leaning on Cas’ shoulder. 

***

“EUREKA!” Donatello cried, sprinting into the library. 

“Are you stroking out?” Dean asked. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was; the dude had been locked up with the tablet for five days now. He had offered to take him out for some air, but that man had been working nonstop, as if possessed. 

“No, I cracked it!” Donatello replied, slapping a sheet of notes onto the table. Dean and Sam crowded around him to look. Cas hung back, bouncing Jack on his hip. His wound was healed now, and he had returned to wearing his formal shirt, although he had left the trench coat off. Some part of Dean wished that the angel would relax a bit when he was in the bunker, just throw on a T-shirt and sweats when he wasn’t off on some mission. Having his jacket on all the time made it seem like he was always waiting to leave. 

“Here are the ingredients,” Donatello said, snapping Dean back to the issue at hand. Sam took the paper and held it close to his face, trying to decipher the ugly, scrawling handwriting. 

“So what are we looking at?” Dean asked. No way he was going to try to read that shit. Printed words were tough enough for him, thank you. 

“Oil of Abramelin, angelica root, a bunch of stuff we already have… oh, and the hearts of Gog and Magog?” 

“Sorry, what?” So they needed the hearts of some freaking cartoon characters? 

“They’re people, kind of,” Donatello explained, “sometimes referred to as brothers, other times lands.” He chuckled. “You know how Bibles are, too many damn translations.” 

“Gog and Magog,” Cas mused softly, “I’d heard rumors, but I didn’t think they were human.” 

“Oh, yes,” Donatello rasped mystically, “According to the tablet, they were ancient warriors who enslaved half the Fertile Crescent, until some priests cast a spell on them to bind them in ‘a place without a place and a time without a time.’”

This was already making Dean’s head spin. “Okay, so we’re supposed to find these guys and cut out their hearts? How?” 

“The– the demon tablet has very specific instructions on how to free them. These men are very dangerous.” 

“Then I’ll do it,” Cas said, hiking Jack up on his hip more securely. 

“I’ll go with you,” Dean said. No way he was letting Cas go alone. Not if he was going to get himself as badly injured as he did with Lucifer. The dude wouldn’t admit it, but he was low on angel mojo, and he needed the backup. 

“Excellent!” Donatello said, “Sam and I will stay behind to, uh, assemble the other ingredients.” He clapped his hands together. “Now, where do you keep your virgin lamb’s blood?” 

Dean looked at him. Virgin lamb’s blood? What the fuck did that mean? 

Whatever. He was on super-soldier-heart duty. 

***

Jack whined in protest as Cas set him down in his crib. Sam wanted him out of the way while he and Donatello prepared the spell, and it was his nap time anyway. 

“Don’t get upset with me,” Cas chided gently, “you’re tired and you know it.” 

As if he were responding in agreement, Jack yawned. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Just sleep for a while, and when you wake up, Sam will come and get you.” He figured he would still be out dealing with Gog and Magog by the time he woke up. 

Jack groaned softly, and rolled over so he could grab his favorite stuffed dog. Cas crept out of the room, turning off the light as he went. He sighed when he reached the hallway. Was he really ready to go out and fight some ancient possibly-not-all-that-human warriors? His wound was healed, but his grace was not fully recharged. Still, they needed the hearts. 

“You ready?” Dean called from the top of the stairs as Cas entered the war room. 

“Yeah,” Cas replied, trudging up the stairs. 

“How are you holding up, Cas?” Dean asked as he reached the top. 

“I’m fine.” No use in saying otherwise. It’s not like they could call off this mission. 

“No, I just mean with, you know,” Dean continued awkwardly, “with everything you’ve been through. I know you’re worried about Lucifer right now….” 

Was Dean seriously trying to talk about feelings? “No, it’s not about that. It’s about….” He paused. “Well, it is in part about that.” Was now really the time to bring up his failing grace? No, better to blame it on one of the other things constantly nagging at him. “But, Dean, I promised Kelly that I would protect her son, and if Michael really is coming, then maybe I was brought in preparation.” 

Dean frowned. “In preparation for what?” 

“For war.” Dean recoiled slightly. “War is what Michael does.” It pained him to think that he would have to once again take up the role of soldier, but really, wasn’t that what he was doing as a hunter, too? 

Dean nodded resolutely. “Well, then we do what we do.” Somehow, Dean’s determination was comforting. “Whatever it takes.” He clapped a hand on Cas’ shoulder and headed out the door. 

***

“All right,” Dean said, trying to break the awkward silence, “field in the middle of nowhere– check.” He took a few steps across the springy ground, trying to get a feel for the area, then turned to Cas. “What’s next?” 

“Well,” Cas rumbled, “Donatello said that Gog and Magog can only be killed by a weapon touched by God, so–” he held out two angel blades, and Dean selected one “–angel blades.” 

“Let’s rock and roll,” Dean replied, spinning his blade expertly in his hand. 

They stood shoulder to shoulder as Cas chanted the summoning incantation. “Zoh nuh ray nuh rah juh….” Dean zoned out for the rest. He didn’t understand Enochian, and honestly, he didn’t care to learn more than was absolutely necessary; proper pronunciation was a bitch. 

Cas finished the incantation. Dean looked around, but nothing happened. No one appeared. 

“Well, Enochian’s kind of tough,” Dean snarked. “Maybe you got a word wrong.” 

“I don’t get ‘words wrong.’” Cas shot back with irritation. 

Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Pretentious bastard. 

Behind them came the sound of loud, thudding footsteps, and they turned. There in the field stodd two enormous men, taller than Sam, clad in furs and… loincloths? 

“I told you,” Cas muttered. 

Dean was too preoccupied with the warriors wardrobe to say anything back. He couldn’t help it, he laughed out loud. 

“This is serious,” Cas scolded. 

“Yeah, no, no, I know,” Dean replied, trying to stifle his laugh, “but… they’re wearing– they’re wearing loincloths.” 

“Dean.” 

He coughed in a final attempt to stop laughing. Somehow, it worked. 

One of the men, with long blond hair, began speaking to them in some foreign tongue, raising a fist in… greeting? Threat? Dean wasn’t quite sure. 

The other man, with short, dark hair, spoke back to the blond man. He seemed confused. 

“It’s ancient Canaanite,” Cas explained. “They want to know if we brought armies.” 

“Armies?” 

“To fight them.” 

Who did these guys think they were, a couple of Incredible Hulks? To be fair, they had the build for it. 

The blond man continued to speak in Canaanite, and Dean wasn’t sure if it was just the way a native Canaanite accent sounded, or if they were mocking them with overconfident grandeur. Then, the darker haired man interrupted the blond man, and they fell into argument. 

Dean leaned toward Cas. “What now?” 

“Uh, they’re… they’re arguing.” 

“Ah.” Obviously it wasn’t important. “Ask ‘em where they got their loincloths.” Dean stifled another laugh. 

“Dean.” He swallowed his laughter. Cas was right, this was a serious situation. But… 

“It’s like a furry diaper,” he commented. 

“Dean.” At this rate, the angel was probably about ready to smite him. 

The dark-haired man began to speak in a more threatening tone, taking calculated steps toward Dean. 

“Uh,” Cas supplied, “he just said that he’s gonna–” 

“Yeah, no, I got it,” Dean grunted as he raised his angel blade in a defensive position to shield himself from the sword swinging toward his head. He dodged the man’s aggressive swipes, then attempted to parry an attack. 

The angel blade shattered like glass. 

“Cas, what the hell?” he yelled. Fear closed around his throat. 

The blond man was ranting aggressively into Cas’ face as the angel held back his much larger arms. 

“He said their blades were forged by a god!” Cas yelled back. 

Dean had no time to process that information before his foe delivered a powerful kick to his chest, sending him flying into the dirt. He scrambled to his feet, despite his aching spine. “Cool!” So if he just got a hold of the sword, easy peasy. 

The loincloth-clad man rushed at Dean, but his size was a disadvantage. Dean slipped beneath his arm, grabbed a hold of his wrist to hinder his sword usage, and used the broken hilt of his angel blade to deliver blows to his foe’s elbow and face. He dropped the sword, but Dean continued to attack, hitting him in the kidney as he maneuvered behind him, then kicking out his knees so that he was on the ground. He wrapped his arms around the man’s neck to choke him out. 

Unfortunately, he had underestimated the man’s endurance. He laughed as he rose to his feet, lifting Dean into the air. Then, he flung Dean over his shoulder, throwing him roughly into the hard-packed dirt. It knocked the wind out of Dean, but he had no time to catch his breath– the man raised a furry-booted foot to stomp Dean’s skull in, and he quickly rolled out of the way and scrambled to his feet again. The man charged him, and Dean ran directly at him, skirting past at the last second. He tumbled to the ground with a large thud as Dean snatched up his sword from the ground. Turning around, he found the man still finding his footing, still unsteady. 

In one swift motion, Dean beheaded him. 

He turned to see how Cas was doing. The angel was on the ground, his blade laying in the dirt a few feet away, staring up at the blond warrior as he raised his sword. Without a moment’s hesitation, Dean sprinted up behind the man and plunged his sword through his chest. He fell to the ground beside Cas, who stared at the corpse with wide, fearful eyes. 

“Forged by God, touched by God, same thing,” Dean grumbled. 

“Yeah,” Cas breathed as he pushed himself off the ground, “apparently.” 

He knelt next to the body, and tore open the fur shirt. Sand tumbled out. 

“Dean, we have a problem.” That much was obvious. “He isn’t human, he appears to be a primitive beast formed of rock and sand.” 

“That’s a thing?” Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised at this point. Everything was a thing. Things that weren’t things were things. 

“Yeah,” Cas sighed, “a very old thing.” He stood. “I thought they had gone extinct during the flood.” 

“So, what does this mean for us?” Dean really hoped it didn’t mean what he thought it meant. 

“It means they don’t have hearts.” 

***

Sam finished adding the last ingredient, then looked back over Donatello’s notes. 

They were almost there. All they needed were the hearts, and they’d be able to get Mom back. Anticipation crawled up his chest, making his heart race. 

“Okay, I think that’s everything,” he announced when he heard Donatello approaching him from behind. 

“Almost,” Donatello replied. Suddenly, something blunt and hard hit him square on the back of the head. He fell to the floor, his vision fuzzy, and watched as Donatello brought a bottle down onto his head. 

Sam woke to Gabriel’s hand on his forehead. He groaned at the migraine pounding through his skull. 

“That’ll be worse than your usual hangover,” Gabriel quipped. 

“You’re not gonna just heal me?” Sam groaned. 

“Sorry, my angel juice isn’t that recharged.” The archangel held out an ice pack, and Sam begrudgingly accepted it before a thought hit him like another bottle to the head. “Jack–” 

“Is still asleep, perfectly safe, yada yada yada. I’ve got the prophet all trussed up in your sex dungeon, everything’s fine.” 

Sam sighed in relief, and slowly pushed himself to his feet to go check on Jack, but his vision went dark around the edges, so he sat in the nearest chair. “Can you go check on him?” 

“Donatello? What, you don’t trust my BDSM skills?” 

“Jack, check on Jack,” Sam groaned, partly in pain and partly in frustration. 

“Right, on it.” The archangel left the room. 

Sam looked around the library with dismay. There were spell ingredients and torn up books scattered across the floor, and many of the chairs in the library and war room were overturned. His heart sank. Many of those materials were the last of their stock, and now they were useless. And if Donatello had, for whatever reason, gone dark side, then that was another huge wrench in their plans to get Mom back. 

The sound of the bunker door creaking open interrupted his thoughts. 

“Sam?” Dean called out. 

“Hey, yeah, I’m right here,” Sam called back, wincing as the use of his own voice shot pain through his temples. 

“Tried to get a hold of you,” Dean scolded. 

Sam flared his nostrils in irritation, shutting his eyes tight against the bright lights of the bunker. “Yeah, well, I’ve been a little busy, Dean. Sorry.” He most certainly was not sorry. 

“What happened?” Cas asked in a raspy, concerned voice. 

“Donatello happened,” Sam groaned. “He attacked me.” 

“The Muppet professor attacked you?” Dean asked loudly and incredulously. “Why?” 

“Ask him, Gabriel has him tied up in the dungeon,” Sam shot back. 

“And Jack?” Cas prompted. 

“Just woke up from a rather long and peaceful nap,” came Gabriel’s voice from behind the angel and his brother. 

Cas whirled around, revealing Gabriel carrying Jack under his arm like a football. The baby cooed happily, which was good, because Sam couldn’t find it in him to correct the archangel in his care of the child. Cas, however, was not amused, and took Jack from Gabriel, nestling him upright in his own arms. 

“Where were you during all of this?” Dean asked Gabriel accusingly. 

“Watching Casa Erotica. Sorry if I had trouble hearing the commotion all the way down in the ‘Dean Cave.’” The archangel of the Lord actually used air quotes at his brother. If he weren’t in pain, Sam might’ve laughed. 

Dean rolled his eyes, but didn’t press further. “Alright, show me what’s going on with the crazy prophet.” 

Sam stood and followed his Gabriel and Dean, Cas close behind him with Jack humming tunelessly around his pacifier. 

The scene in the dungeon was an odd one. Somehow, Gabriel had gotten a hold of bondage materials… but the kinky kind. He walked across the room and took the ball gag out of Donatello’s mouth. The prophet began to speak as though he had been in the middle of a sentence. 

“...must bear witness to possess ability of it. To protect it. Yes. Protect the power. The power has been given you to… TREAD… UPON… YOUR… ENEMIES!” 

Gabriel shoved the ball gag back into his mouth and shrugged. “I don’t know how useful he still is in this state, but I figured you’d be pissed if I hurt him, so….” He clapped his hands together. “I’m going to go watch Scooby Doo.” He looked over at Cas, and held out his arms. “Quality uncle-nephew time?” 

Cas glanced at Dean, who simply shrugged. He handed over the baby, and Gabriel disappeared down the hallway. 

Sam turned to Dean. “I don’t know what happened, man. We were setting up the spell and he just… snapped.” 

“Yeah, I think it’s all a set up,” Dean replied with a grimace. 

“What?” 

“Gog and Magog, they can’t be part of the spell,” Cas explained. 

“‘Cause they don’t have hearts,” Dean elaborated. 

Sam figured he must have a concussion. His brain was whirring away uselessly, like an overheating laptop with a fan as loud as a jet engine. “So… wait a second, then why did he….” 

“Because Donatello wanted them to kill us,” Cas said patiently. “He wants us dead.” 

***

Cas watched as Dean approached Donatello and removed the ball gag from his mouth. Donatello began to laugh maniacally. 

“Donnie, what happened, man?” Dean asked gruffly, “I thought we were friends.” 

Donatello scoffed. “Friends? I see how you, both of you, look at me.” He glanced between Sam and Dean as he spoke. “Covetous. Well… God didn’t choose you for this part, Dean. He chose me.” 

Cas managed to keep his composure as his blood boiled. How dare this man insult Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, like this? 

“Donatello,” Sam said, breaking the tension, “whatever it is you’re feeling, whatever it is you’re going through, you can fight this.” 

Donatello wheezed with laughter. “I don’t wanna fight it. I….” He frowned at Dean. “You’re supposed to be dead.” 

“Sorry about that,” Dean replied flatly. 

Donatello shrugged. 

“Was it the tablet that did this to you?” Sam asked. 

“It didn’t do anything to me,” Donatello cried, “I translated the tablet. All of it! I saw the power of God! And it’s all up here.” He scowled. “And you want to take it from me.” 

“No, we don’t,” Sam assured him, “that’s not true. We just wanna help you.” 

“No,” Donatello chuckled darkly, “You just brought me here to use me, and to get your precious spell back.” He paused a moment before continuing. “You’re wasting your time. And if it’s a little magic you wanna be seein’…” He gestured flimsily with one bound hand and whispered something that Cas couldn’t quite make out. 

“Donatello, listen–” Sam began, but turned to his brother. To Cas’ horror, Dean was wheezing and choking, clutching at his throat and trying to draw breath to no avail. Donatello began to laugh maniacally again. 

Sam grabbed Dean by the shoulders before he could fall, and threw one of his brother’s arms over himself. Cas grabbed Dean’s other arm and they guided him into the hallway. As soon as he was out of Donatello’s sight, Dean gasped, his throat clear again. 

“I’m okay,” he wheezed, leaning against the tiled wall of the hallway, “It’s okay.” 

But it was far from okay. Cas turned toward Donatello, still strapped to the chair, rage burning through his veins. He could imagine a thousand different ways to make him pay for hurting his family.

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to reality. Sam was walking down the hallway, toward the room that Donatello had shut himself up in to translate the tablet. Dean removed his hand and gestured at Cas to follow him. 

Donatello’s study room was dim and messy. How they hadn’t noticed earlier that he was going crazy was beyond Cas. 

“Okay, so what do we know, besides all work and no play makes Donatello a homicidal boy?” Dean said, half heartedly digging through the papers of scribbled notes spread across the table. 

“Maybe…” Sam sighed. “Maybe something in the tablet snapped him.” 

“No,” Cas replied, “prophets are conduits. Whatever’s in the tablet should just flow through them.” He shook his head, sifting through his extensive memories. “I heard of one who was tempted once, but never fully corrupted.” 

“Well, Kevin translated it,” Dean added, “and it was hard on him, sure, but he never went full psycho.” 

“Okay,” Cas said, “so what was different about Donatello?” 

“He doesn’t have a soul,” Sam said, realization dawning on his face. 

“What?” This was news to Cas. This changed everything. 

“Is that bad?” Dean asked hesitantly. 

“Yes, that’s bad,” Cas shot back, “Theoretically, the human soul would act as a filter, inoculating the prophet against whatever darkness is in the tablet.” 

Sam gave Dean a look that even Cas could plainly read as ‘oh, we fucked up.’ 

“All right,” Dean said calmly, “well, how do we fix him?” 

Cas shook his head. “I don’t think we do.” 

Dean stared at him for a moment before speaking. “Okay, hold on.” He looked as though he wanted to say more, but the words would not come. 

“We were so close,” Sam said softly. Dean and Cas turned to him. “We almost had it.” 

“What are you talkin’ about?” Dean asked incredulously. 

“Our plan, Dean,” Sam replied. “The spell, get Mom back. Donatello’s soul is gone. That’s not just something you come back from.” 

“You did,” Dean offered. 

“Yeah, because you convinced Death to get my soul back from the cage, but Amara ate Donatello’s soul.” Cas didn’t even want to ask how that event came to pass. “There’s nothing to get back. It’s gone.” 

“And Donatello’s already corrupted,” Cas added. Though he hated to suggest it, he felt he had to. “Perhaps the kindest thing to do would be to end his suffering.” 

Dean looked at him incredulously. 

“What?” Sam breathed. 

“I don’t like it either,” Cas said defensively, “but if Donatello’s life ends, then another prophet comes into being and they can finish the translation.” 

“So, what, you just want to kill him?” Dean asked roughly. 

“No! No killing!” Sam yelled. Dean went silent. “We just need the spell.” 

Though Sam’s morals were admirable, morals were for times of peace. This was a time of war. Cas strode out of the room. They needed the spell, so he’d get the spell. 

“Cas,” Dean called after him. 

“What are you doing?” Sam asked. 

“What I have to,” Cas replied simply. 

He ignored the Winchesters calling after him as he slammed the dungeon door behind him and slid the bolt closed. Donatello watched him with disinterest as he approached. 

“The spell to open the gate,” Cas said evenly, “you gave us the wrong ingredients.” 

Donatello huffed indignantly, like a cranky teenager. “Duh.” 

“But you know the right ones,” Cas continued. 

“I might,” Donatello replied testily. “But like I told Sam and Dean, you’re wasting your time.” 

Cas nodded, and began to remove his coat. This could get messy. He had hoped never to use Heaven’s interrogation techniques ever again, but right now, they were necessary. 

“Well,” he said slowly, “I’m not Sam and Dean.” 

Donatello scoffed. “What are you gonna do?” 

“I am going to do something that I promised I would never do to a human being without their permission.” He laid the coat on a table to his left, and approached the prophet. “I’m going to strip the spell from your mind.” 

Fear trickled into Donatello’s features. “You– you can’t. I–I’ve absorbed too much power. Y–you’ll fry us both!” 

“I might,” Cas conceded. He truly hoped that he wouldn’t. It was unlikely that he, an angel, would fry himself. Donatello, on the other hand…. 

“Ardeat intus–” 

Cas clamped a hand over Donatello’s mouth before he could complete the spell. 

“I’m sorry,” he said mercilessly, “but I’m not going to let you or anyone hurt the people that I love.” He tightened his grip on the mouth destined to spout the word of God. “Not again.” 

He placed his fingers on Donatello’s forehead, and the prophet screamed in agony. 

*** 

The dungeon door creaked as it swung open. Cas was adjusting the lapels of his coat, and Donatello sat unconscious in his trusses behind him. 

“Cas?” Dean called uncertainly. 

Cas’ face was a mask devoid of emotion. But Dean could see through the cracks; he saw the remorse in Cas’ eyes when he spoke. 

“Well, I know what we have to do now.” He pushed past the worried brothers and headed to the library. Dean wanted to follow, but he needed to make sure that Donatello was still alive. 

He approached the unconscious man and pressed two fingers to the vein in his neck. Nothing. 

Rage clouded his thoughts. Why did Cas have to be so reckless sometimes? 

He left Sam with Donatello’s body, storming after Cas. The angel was pacing anxiously in the war room. He looked up when Dean entered the room. 

“You killed him.” 

Cas looked away from Dean, shame written all over his face. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Cas–” 

“His soul was gone. He was corrupted. He was a danger to himself, and to you, and to all of humanity.” 

Dean refused to admit that Cas was, at least to a certain degree, right. He remained silent. 

“Did you know that he was working with Asmodeus?” 

That caught Dean’s attention. “What?” 

“Not by choice, but he was.” The angel sighed. “Some people just can’t be saved.” 

“Yeah, but who gets to make that choice? You? What gives you that right?” 

“Nothing.” Cas stepped toward him. “I took it. And if I hadn’t acted, we would still be sitting around and talking about what to do next. We would be wasting time. And it’s time we don’t have, Dean, I told you, war is coming.” The certainty in Cas’ voice sent chills down Dean’s spine. He looked away. “And I did what soldiers do. We needed the spell to open the rift, and I got it.” 

Dean looked back up at Cas. What was done was done; now, they needed to focus on opening the rift. 

“We need four major ingredients: the grace of an archangel, a fruit from the Tree of Life, the Seal of Solomon, and the blood of ‘a most holy man.’ We find those things, we can bring your mother home. And together, we can beat Lucifer and Michael.” Dean nodded resolutely. Cas was right. They were preparing for war; they couldn’t pretend otherwise. “This is the only way we win, and this is the only way we survive.” 

A heavy silence hung between them. 

“It’s like you said, Dean,” Cas said finally. “Whatever it takes.” 

***

“Hey, Gabriel,” Sam said slowly. He gingerly sat himself next to the archangel on the couch. Jack was napping contently in his uncle’s arms. 

“What do you want?” 

Sam sighed. No beating around the bush here. He had really hoped to strike up a conversation before delving into this topic. When Dean had relayed the information that they needed archangel grace, Sam had told him that Gabriel would not be happy about even more of his grace being siphoned off, especially after his time with Asmodeus. 

Still, it was for his mom. He had to at least ask. 

“We figured out what the spell really needs.” 

“Okay. Get to the point.” 

“It requires archangel grace.” 

Gabriel snapped his head up. Fear filled his eyes. “No.” 

Sam grimaced. He had known this would happen. “Gabriel, please, it’s our mo–” 

“I don’t care.” The fear had turned to fire, and Sam could feel himself shying away from the heat. 

“Hey, cool it,” came Dean’s voice from behind them. Sam silently cursed his dumb big brother for getting involved with this. The archangel certainly wasn’t going to listen to him; he’d killed him hundreds of times in that nightmare time loop without a second thought. 

“Cool it?!” Gabriel practically shrieked, twisting to look at Dean. Jack whimpered in his arms, waking from his nap. 

“I don’t see what the problem is. Lend us a little grace, and then we owe you a favor. Sounds like a fair deal to me.” 

“No.” 

“You’re being childish.” 

Something about the phrase seemed to spark an idea in the archangel. He smirked mischievously at the brothers. Sam felt his gut twist into a knot of fear. What had the archangel thought up this time? Another time loop? Another cycle of TV shows that made him get hit in the balls with a machine and declare to the public that he had genital herpes?

“I’ll show you childish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gratuitous Dean-and-Cas-watching-a-movie-together-and-Dean-falls-asleep-on-Cas'-shoulder scene? In MY version of Supernatural? It's more likely than you think. 
> 
> Also, RIP Donatello. Sorry dude.


End file.
